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In Love’s Domains 


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MARAH 

ELLIS 

RYAN. 


CHICAGO AND NEW YORK. 











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: . *7 



IN LOVE’S DOMAINS 


3. Srilogg 


BY 

y 

/ 

MARAH ELLIS RYAN, 

AUTHOR OP “MERZE,” ETC. 



CHICAGO AND NEW YORK: 

Rand, McNally Company, Publishers, 


COPTKIGHT 1889, BT Raxd, McNallit & Co.. Chicago. 


Love’s Domains. 


V 


TO 

MY FRIENDS, 

IN GRATEFUL REMEMBRANCE 

OF 

A FRIENDSHIP. 



All thoughts, all passions, all delights, 
With all that shakes this mortal frame;, 
Are but the ministers of Love, 

And feed his sacred flame. 


Coleridge. 


F 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

Prologue 7 

The Poet’s Story — “ The Lady of the Garden” 19 

The Professor’s Story — “A Romaunt” 49 

The Bohemian’s Story— “ Galeed ” 90 

Epilogue 813 


( 5 ) 





IN LOVE’S DOMAINS. 


PROLOGUE. 


“A droj) of dew may drag a deluge down!” 
It was Meredith’s Clytemnestra who said that, 
was it not? A wise woman, who all her life sought 
out the sunny places, and let the deluges fall on 
other heads. 

And it was the Professor who drew down the 
deluge of ink for himself, his young friend the 
Poet, and his old friend the Bohemian, that 
evening, when he twisted his wig awry in an 
impatient manner and growled: 

“No chance of Harvey dropping in to-night. 
He’s too much infatuated with that best girl of 
his; vowed yesterday he’d marry her or commit 
suicide before New Year’s. He’s a fool.” 

The two younger men glanced at each other in 
an amused way. The irascibility of their hon- 
ored chum was seldom annoying to either, and 
the elder of the two reached for a second bunch 
of grapes as he asked: “Because he is in love, or 
because he wants to marry, which?’ ’ 

“Both. He has the making of a clever man in 

( 7 ) 


8 


IN love’s domains. 


him if he don’t tie himself down to humoring one 
woman’s whims and complicated emotions.” 

“I am afraid you are growing immoral, Pro- 
fessor,” retorted the Bohemian, ‘‘why that objec- 
tion to the sex singular? You wouldn’ t have him 
humor the emotions of a harem, would you? 
Remember, he is a good boy.” 

“Why should they not marry if they love?” 
asked the third party at the dinner table, a 
warm-eyed fellow of twenty-four. A young poet 
dreaming over his first book of verse. A young 
actor as well, he was, who had played in the 
country places, and carried from them a breath of 
wholesome intensity for his stage work; a breath 
of freshness and purity for his poems that all 
the din and life of the streets could not scatter. 
“Why not, if he loves her?” he repeated. 

“All the more reason, since the deeper his 
delusion the greater shock its awakening will 
be.” 

“ Then you think there is always a process of 
disillusion to go through? A fall from ideals to 
mourn over in the married state?” asked the 
Bohemian. 

“Yes. The infatuation of love admits no defi- 
ciencies, therefore the dishonesty of its founda- 
tion makes it always a shaky affair. Take from 
love its glamour, strip it of its illusions, have it 
unsheltered by all that mistiness of the imagina- 
tion, and it melts into mere animal magnetism as 
surely as that the hardest of ice and the dryest of 
dust make mud. It’s kittle-kattle that same love; 


PKOLOGUE. 


9 


leave it alone;” and lie swallowed his sherry at a 
gulp, as if he had swallowed the subject and 
disposed of it. 

“Well, Professor,” answered the Poet, “you 
must agree that for a misty, intangible illusion, 
it has been the inspiration of more great work, 
more noble deeds, than any other one passion or 
emotion.” 

“Yes, and the heroes of those deeds would ten 
years later look back on that phase of their exist- 
ence and think, ‘what a jackass I was to be so 
impressionable.’ Oh! affection between the sexes 
and marriage rites are good things, the latter pro- 
tects society, you know. I once contemplated it 
myself. Oh, yes, I’ve been there. But it’s the 
mushiness of the twaddle about the divinity of 
love that I object to. It won’t wash. A doctor is 
much like a priest in his knowledge of the domes- 
tic lives of others, and I tell you we manage to 
see the clay feet under many a cloak of ideality.” 

“What do you think of it, Alan?” asked the 
younger man. “ Do you believe in the continued 
existence of its happiness in a spiritual sense, or 
are you too much of the earth — earthy, for that 
view of the question?’ ’ 

“Ami?” he half questioned himself, with an 
introspective look in the blue eyes that came so 
near being black. “Am I of the earth — earthy? 
Not too much so to believe in love’s continued 
existence as the highest help a soul can have to 
earthly happiness, if it is firmly founded on 
morality’s laws.” 


10 


IN love’s domains. 


“ Morality!” grunted the Professor. “If love 
is the divine thing you imagine, it should be 
affected by nothing of social forms. And, by the 
way, Alan, whence comes your late knowledge 
of the key to happiness through morality f ’ 

“By the help of one of the sex of my mother?” 
he answered, quietly. And the tone some way 
stilled any reply from the others; there was in it 
a hint of something in the Bohemian’s nature that 
suggested an unexplored country — one his club 
friends had not suspected. The silence after his 
speech had grown a little marked, a trifle awk- 
ward, and, noticing it, he continued in lighter 
vein: “But don’t you think you are a bit hard 
on a fellow with your insinuations as to late 
morality? I haven’t been such a very black 
sheep.” 

“ Perhaps not, ” said the Professor, doubtfully, 
“but — well, my boy, they tell me you’ve been 
very human.” 

“Why not? Our humanity is our greatest 
strength. People who are virtuous simply through 
the weakness of their human passions deserve no 
credit.” 

“ Spoken like a nineteenth century disciple of 
Sense!” said a voice at the portieres, and Harvey, 
the deserter, entered in evening dress, a Cape 
jasmine in his buttonhole helping to make him 
altogether lovely with fragrance. The Professor 
noticed these details grumpily and suspiciously. 
Harvey was thirty -flve, a clever business man, one 
of a publishing Arm, and his character was weak- 


PROLOGUE. 


11 


ened in the old bachelor s eyes by his tendency to 
love affairs. 

““Sense seems scarcely the word after Alan’s 
first statement,” demurred the Poet, taking up 
the cudgels for his friend. ‘‘At least, not in 
the general acceptance .of the term — not as it 
approaches the sensual. The sensuous? Yes, all 
poetry, in life or verse, the outgrowth of love and 
of religion, is full of the sensuous; and human 
love, after all, must be but the religion of the 
heart.” 

“It is a religion, then, in which you pin your 
faith to a transitory idol,” answered the Professor; 
“ one you can set up to worship through like any 
South Sea Islander, and carve out a new one when 
association shows you how much too big its ears 
or its nose may be for your idea of divine beauty. 
The divinity of the emotion you extol can only be 
kej)t alive through the filter of the senses. The 
highest of your transports can not rise above 
the earthiness in you. I tell you those idealistic 
views of yours have no practical foundation. We 
don’t get our wings until the next world.” 

“A forcible argument,” murmured Harvey, in 
evident admiration. “I am sorry I can not spend 
the evening with you. Your subject is a fascinating 
one to my susceptible nature — but duties! I am 
a martyr to duty. So you” — to the Poet — “ look 
on it as a religion, do you? Well, you are but 
twenty-four, and not long away from the fresh- 
ness of your northern hills; and you” — to the 
Professor — look on it as an evanescent emotion 


12 


IN love’s domains. 


that takes coloring entirely from the senses — a 
thing that does not endure. Well, you have been 
buried in anatomical researches for years — shut 
up in a country college with only a season’s 
breathing space when you come to see how we 
sinners live — so, you may be excused your 
cynicism, as love is likely to light shy of your 
dissecting knife; and you” — turning to the 
Bohemian — ‘‘you have known love closely 
enough to create one of the most lovable of 
creatures in that last play of yours. It is an 
undeniable success. But what are your views of 
it as relating to the continued existence of happi- 
ness through it in human lives?” 

“ I think it capable of producing all that is most 
high, most divine, in a soul sense. It has in it all 
possibilities of heaven, and of hell, and, as I said 
before, to my mind the heaven of it can be endless 
only through temperance and morality.” 

“ You mean when two people love each other?” 

“Yes; a love that is unrequited may exalt to 
high work in an ideal sense, if the object is mor- 
ally and mentally high as your ideals. But it 
gives no such perfection as the mutual rendering 
up of lives to each other.” 

“Come down from the clouds, Alan,” growled 
the Professor; “what has driven the X)air of you 
up there in such beastly weather? Listen to that 
rain pouring down, Harvey. You’re not such a 
fool as to take a girl out to the theatre to-night?” 

“I certainly am,” answered Harvey, unruffled 
by the gruff ness; “ you see, I might get a chance 


PKOLOGUE. 


13 


to carry her from the door to the carriage. It 
would never do to have her feet wet. No,” he 
said, ruminatingly, “ I could not risk missing so 
much of heaven;” and then he added, more 
briskly: 

‘ Look here, I believe I have a sort of genius 
for laying j)lans for other people’ s work. Those 
ideas of yours have promoted one in my head. 
Our firm want something original in short 
sketches for our holiday issue. Now, you are all 
writers; all in different directions; suppose you 
each, with your ideas of this question, write me a 
love story to prove your theories. If they are 
acceptable, I will have them issued in one volume 
and pay you a good rate for the work. What do 
you say?” 

It would be a novel idea,” said the Bohemian, 
slowly; “but I have not done anything in that 
line for a long time, and am not sure I am equal 
to fiction.” 

“ Then write facts,” said the Professor,, sarcas- 
tically; “surely some of your experiences will 
furnish you material, and you have much more 
business than I in love’s domains.” 

“ In Love’s Domains,” echoed the Poet, “there 
is a title ready-made for you, Mr. Harvey.” 

“You are right,” the publisher answered; 
‘ ‘ that’ s a good idea and suggestive. Oh, you have 
something in that head of yours besides rhymes, 
I shall expect something creditable from you.” 

“Expect nothing striking,” he answered, “I 
am equal only to quietly-toned work.” 


14 


love's domains. 


“No, lie don’t let his feet touch earth often 
enough to reach the dramatic in construction,” — 
this from the Professor. 

“Give him ten years more and he will,” 
answered Harvey; “well what do you say, Alan, 
will you try it?” 

“Yes, I will,” said the Bohemian, “that is, I 
will make no promises as to giving it to you for 
the public. I am not sure enough of myself. 
But I will attempt a story with that idea in 
view.” 

“All right, then, it’s settled. Get them written 
soon as you can. I must go now, it is getting 
late. Professor, you haven't said a word, but I 
know you’ll do it, and I should not wonder if you 
wrote the spooniest story of the three.” 

“I’ll write you a treatise on the anatomical 
construction of the form divine, and give it to you 
as a sinker to hold down my ethereal compan- 
ions,” growled the Professor, incited anew into 
grumpiness by the sight of Harvey before a x)ier- 
glass, straightening his tie, giving his mustache a 
final twirl, and admiring himself generally before 
sallying forth to conquest. “ Oh no, you won’t,” 
he said, amiably, turning his back on them, and 
smiling at them in the mirror, ‘ ‘ you will burnish 
up your reminiscences and give us something 
thrilling. By the way. Professor,” i)icking up 
his hat and coat, “how long has it been since 
you kissed a pair of red lips? I imagine they 
would have a wonderful effect on your imagina- 
tion for the subject. Don’t look so horrified. I 


prologup:. 


15 


would prescribe no medicine for you that I would 
not cheerfully take myself. Good night, gentle- 
men. I’ll be in to see you to-morrow, Alan,” 
and, smiling at the Professor’s half-amused, half- 
frowning face, he sauntered out of the club-rooms 
and down to the carriage awaiting himself and the 
fair freight with whom he was to share the delights 
of the theatre. 

‘‘Froth! froth!” ejaculated the Professor, “I 
have known that fellow ever since he left the 
nursery. He has proven successful in business, 
but I’m blessed if it is not the only way one has 
of knowing whether that froth means cream or 
scum. ’ 

That night the mind of each was filled with the 
germ of a story that was to be. The Poet, alone 
in his room, listening to the soft fall of the rain in 
the autumn night, half fancied it the rustle of 
leaves whispering of the sadness of the woods left 
naked, and among the visionary network of bare 
boughs nipped by the frost there arose a woman’ s 
face, as he had seen it once — an old face, brown 
and withered as dead leaves of autumn, with a 
quaint pathos of eye and speech that had haunted 
him through many days. And when he slept that 
night, he had decided to give to the world her 
love story. 

The Professor shuffled away to his room early, 
drew the curtains close, lit every gas-jet, poked 
the fire in the open grate until it got too sulky to 
burn for him, and, with his slippers on, he leaned 
back luxuriously to rest, and then — 


16 


IN love’s domains. 


‘‘A love story,” he said, contemptuously, “I 
never knew but one, and I doubt if I have 
much imagination. Let me see, let — me — see. 
What was that idea I had coming up the stairs? 
Yes, yes, to be sure; they must be in that old 
box.” 

And a little later he was down on his knees 
beside a trunk, out of which he lifted things in 
orderly fashion until he found an old tin box con- 
taining some old law papers, old receipts for 
money paid, the deeds to some property, and 
finally, an old daguerreotype case, out of which 
something dropped as he opened it. 

‘‘ Uh-hm! ” he grunted, getting stiffly up from 
his knees, and studying the face under the gas- 
light. That's it; that’s Lettie. Pretty girl she 
was — prettier than the most of them. I wonder 
what that was that dropped? Don’t think I’ve 
looked at that picture for twenty years.” 

He hunted around in the box and found the 
thing that had dropped. It was a bunch of im- 
mortelles, almost unrecognizable from age. They 
were pressed flat, and tied with a narrow pink 
ribbon with a fancy edge that had been api^le 
green, but was now almost gray. 

‘‘Lord bless me! Lord bless my soul! I’d for- 
gotten all about them. Well, well, how one’s 
memory does go! But this brings much of it 
back — yes, considerable. How musty they do 
smell! And the moths have got at the velvet 
of that case — a pretty case it was, too. Bah! I 
don’t like the smell of them. Tobacco is abetter 


PROLOGUE. 


17 


companion.” And lie pushed them aside and lit 
a pipe. 

“Ah! that’s better!” — with a long sigh of 
enjoyment. Then he looked at the musty old 
mementoes and smiled grimly, sent a great puff 
of smoke toward them, and laughed a little sar- 
castically as they were almost hidden in the 
cloud. 

So he sat, and grimaced, and smoked, and 
dreamed, until drowsiness dropped around him. 
The pipe went out, the fire burned low, and at 
last he awoke with a start, shuffled out of his 
clothes and into bed, forgetful of the love tokens 
on the table at his elbow. 

But in the room of the man called Alan the 
light burned long, though not very brightly, that 
night, and a book of his own, published two years 
before, was opened and looked at long and 
thoughtfully — a volume beautifully illustrated, 
that he kept always near him. All through it 
were passages marked in a hand that was likely 
a woman’s; and on the blank leaf was a pen 
sketch, as delicately done as an etching — a sketch 
at sight of which his eyes grew misty and his face 
dropped low and lower, until his lips touched a 
name written in the comer. The sketch was of a 
child’s grave, white with anemones, on which a 
ray of moonlight fell as it struggled through the 
branches above. Two figures were dimly outlined 
in the dusky background, each moving away from 
the grave and from each other. Not their faces, 
only their forms could be seen — those of a man 
2 


18 


m love’s domains. 


and a woman. Long lie looked, and then dropped 
on his knees at the bedside, the book making a 
pillow for his head — open as it was at the child’s 
grave. 

And thus the night closed in for him. 


THE LADY OF THE GARDEN. 

THE poet’s story. 


Nae better wifie there lived on the lea 

Than bonnie sweet Bessie, the maid o’ Dundee.” 

Only a Scotch tongue could linger so lovingly 
over the words of the quaint old song, and the 
stalwart singer, striding back and forth with 
hands deep in pockets, softened his tones to a 
caress as they breathed of Bonnie Bessie. 

Not altogether a scene to inspire a singer was 
that railroad Junction, where a party was congre- 
gated waiting for the next train — not a station- 
house, or even a telegraph office — only two rail- 
roads crossing, and a pile of trunks with labels of 
‘‘ Hotel” and “ Theatre” painted on the ends of 
them. 

‘‘Three hours to wait,” grumbled the melan- 
choly-looking comedian of the party as he 
watched the “boys” arranging some trunkg to 
make seats for the ladies; “three hours to wait, 
and only an hour’s ride to Louisville, no depot, 
and the air chilly after that frost; every one is 
likely to catch cold and be hoarse as a fog-horn 
to-night. All the fault of the management.” 

“Nonsense!” broke in the decided tones of a 

( 19 ; 


20 


IN love’s domains. 


young lady in a gray ulster and a Tam o’ Shanter 
traveling cap. ‘‘The management can’t change 
the schedules or regulate the weather, and it was 
worth losing three hours of sleep this morning 
just to see the sun rise over those wild Kentucky 
hills. Now quit grumbling and take that child 
from your wife; she looks tired out. Why, man, 
five years ago you would not have let her bear 
the burden of a traveling satchel, no matter how 
small, and now you let that cherubic cub maul 
the life half out of her; go along, now!” and 
with a little push she started him toward the 
cherub from the mouth of which there issued 
music not at all celestial. 

“You will get yourself into trouble some day 
with that authoritative manner of yours, my 
lady,” remarked the singer, who had stopiied 
beside her, and was looking down smilingly into 
the independent face. 

“Oh, yes!” and the head crowned by the Tam 
o’ Shanter was raised a trifie higher. “ I know 
we Jar on your delicate sensibilities often, we 
American women.” 

“ Not at all. I find many of you charming.’ 

Many of us!” she hashed back. “That 
sounds dubious. Well, there is safety in num- 
bers. But I doubt if the many have succeeded 
in winning you from the ideal Scotch lassie of 
your Highlands, or is there something more sub- 
stantial than an ideal? Yes?” — as a slight wave 
of color crept up to his eyes under her glance — 
“come, tell me of her. Is she a bonnie lassie?” 


THE LADY OF THE GARDEN. 


21 


‘‘She is to me,” he answered, sending little 
rings of smoke from a cigar up into the chill 
October air. There was no smile in the keen blue 
eyes as they gazed over her head into the distant 
haze of the Indian summer. 

“So!” and she laid her hand on his arm for an 
instant and then dropped it, laughing a little. 
“ So it is serious, this affair of the heart. Women 
are always interested in love stories; tell me, what 
is she like, this bonnie lassie of yours!” 

“An honest, earnest-hearted girl, that is all.” 

“And not at all an aggressive personage like 
our decided Americans — not at all like us?” 

“Not at all like you,” he said, half jestingly, 
as they walked slowly down the track, away from 
the rest of the party. 

“ Of course not; that goes without saying.” 

“Now, now, don’t be sarcastic, fori can’t quar- 
rel with you when you wear that Scotch cap; so 
be good to-day.” 

“Pale-blooded, meek, and prayerful,” she 
quoted laughingly, ‘ ‘ would that bring me nearer 
the level of your Scottish maids? I fear not; 
they live a different life from ours; they are cared 
for carefully in the homes of their fathers with 
all the associations of sturdy, clean-limbed vir- 
tues; with all the legends of chivalry and purity 
as a background for the picture of their own 
lives, the picture that is tinged always with 
the warm glow of the ingle nook. We have not 
the same homes in America. We are too new, 
too much of a migratory class; we consider our- 


22 


IN love’s domains. 


selves a full century ahead of the quiet lives cf 
your women, and yet I do not wonder if we lose 
by comparison in the eyes of a man who would 
w^ant his wife akin to what his mother had been.” 

They walked on in silence for a little way and 
then he said: 

“Don’t you think you are inclined to be severe 
to-day? I have seen many happy home circles in 
your country, though they may lack the flavor of 
traditional surroundings. But home is where the 
heart is, always.” 

“But one’s heart is not always in the same 
place,” she said, with a little touch of daring, 
“Many of them change tlieir address without 
warning and often leave their rent uni)aid.” 

She stopped by the side of the country road 
they had reached, and, gathering some scarlet 
maple-leaves, pinned them to her gray coat, where 
they glowed like a live coal on a bed of dead 
ashes, while he stood aside and watched her a lit- 
tle curiously before he si3oke. 

“Why will you be so cynical? ” he inquired at 
last. “You do not believe there is so little con- 
stancy in the world. It is bad enough to hear 
men express themselves so, but' it jars on one to 
hear it from the lips of a woman, and a young 
woman.” 

“ Young! ” she repeated a little bitterly, “ don’t 
you think there are some people born old? I 
can scarcely remember the time when I did not 
feel so. ” 

“Come, come, don’t imagine yourself a female 


THE LADY OF THE GARDEN. 


28 


Timon. Our century is fond of such fancies, but 
they have their foundation in morbid imagina- 
tions, and are unhealthy, and I will wager that 
close under the key of those non-committal lips of 
yours, there is some idyl that all your cynicism 
can not kill — something that gives the denial to 
your assertion of the ingrained inconstancy of 
humanity.” 

She looked up inquiringly. ‘‘You mean some 
personal affair — a love story?” 

“ Something of that sort, yes.” 

Her laugh broke out clearly on the still air as 
she stopped, thrusting her hands deep into the 
pockets of her coat, and facing him. 

‘ ‘ Pardon my laughing, ” she begged, contritely, 
with an amused look still in her eyes, “but you 
seem determined that every one else must be 
ridiculous — that is, in love, because you happen 
to be. An idyl of the j)ast? lots of them, my 
friend. My first love affair occurred when I was 
about five. I remember still the object of my 
affections. He had red hair, and a very much 
freckled nose, but I thought him most charming, 
especially his timidity, for he was mortally afraid 
of me, and would squirm uneasily under my 
glance, and dodge out of my way if he saw me 
moving toward him.” 

“Unappreciative youngster! why was I not 
there?” soliloquized her companion, throwing his 
light overcoat cloak- wise across his shoulders, and 
looking a deal more picturesque than with his 
arms in the sleeves, as the tailor intended. 


24 


IN love’s domains. 


“Because you were, no doubt, beginning a series 
of the same lessons among your beloved Scottish 
hills,” answered the girl. “Well, that was my 
first love affair, though not the last. I have been 
in love with some one ever since, and very much 
in earnest with several subjects whose names I 
have forgotten.” 

“Pardon me, but I don’t believe you, and I 
don’t want to believe you,” he answered, decid- 
edly. 

“Because I belong to the same sex as your 
heather-bell, your ideal of constancy? Why, my 
friend, I am only preparing you for the letter that 
will fiit across the water some of these days, 
telling you that some other laddie has won your 
prize, and that she is ‘woo’d and married and 
a’.’ ” 

“ Don’t try to be so ill-natured,” he said, good- 
humoredly, “it is really not your forte, though 
you have been trying yourself to-day. You know 
if any one else should accuse your sex of incon- 
stancy, you would be the first to take up the cud- 
gels in defense.” 

“I might be swinging them from the dark 
ages until eternity then,” she retorted, “for the 
writers of all time have sung the same song, and 
is it not Parton who said, ‘A woman’s heart is 
like the moon, it is always changing, but there is 
always a man in it?’ ” 

“ I cry, enough,” he admitted, laughingly. “If 
you begin to lanch quotations at me I give in 
and beat a retreat back to the Junction.” 


THE LADY OF THE GARDEN. 


25 


‘‘No you don’t,” and she placed herself in the 
center of the road as a barricade. “I refuse to 
return to the grumbling back there, and you can’t 
be so ungallant as to leave me here alone. I will 
promise to be good, to say no more to shake your 
faith in the sex divine.” 

“On that condition we will take a walk,” he 
said, briskly, “so come along;” and forging ahead 
they followed the road that curved around a low 
hill back of which a few houses clustered socia- 
bly, and from the windows of which there looked 
questioning faces at the two pedestrians who were 
so unlike any of their neighbors, he with the 
assurance of the man of the world in his erect 
carriage that bespoke a past military training in 
far Aberdeen, she with the jauntiness of a New 
York tailor in her gray cloth suit, and the inde- 
pendence of a self-made woman in her level-look- 
ing eyes, that placidly met those directed to her 
and smiled them down serenely. 

Occasionally she would glance quizzically at 
her companion as he strode on in silence, with a 
little wrinkle between the straight dark brows 
that had a trick of growing straighter under 
anger or perplexity. Which was it that changed 
their lines now, she wondered; so she looked at 
the strong young face with a half regret at trying 
to upset his illusions. The spirit of perversity 
had been strong in her, yet she would have felt 
sorry, more than sorry, if her predictions had 
come true; if his Scotch lassie had wavered in her 
allegiance. 


26 


IX love's domaixs. 


“I should feel like shaking her if she did,” 
she thought viciously, for she was honestly fond 
of the earnest-natured actor with whom she had 
played week after week through the theatrical 
season — fond of him with a sort of gay camara- 
derie that abolished conventionalities, that called 
him “Aberdeen,” ignoring entirely the name 
given by his sjDonsors, that demolished with 
her practical comments its idealism that made 
itself manifest in the deep eyes and breadth of 
brow, that often contradicted her own nature for 
the sake of contradicting his. 

Out past the village a little way an old road led 
off to the left, skirting a belt of woods and' lead- 
ing up a ravine, while the main one kept straight 
ahead, broad, level, and yellow. At its forks 
they stopped, undecided which one to take. A 
countryman driving a farm wagon loaded with 
great red and yellow apples, met them there and 
answered their greeting heartily. The eyes of the 
girl looked hungrily at its tempting fruit. 

“Ask him to sell us some,” she said to her 
companion, “this sharp air makes me perfectly 
ravenous. If he refuses I know I shall commit 
highway robbery.’^ 

“ Sell yeh some? well, no, I reckon not, sir,” he 
said in answer to the query. “I ain’t a sellin’ 
produce Jest now. But if you an’ yer lady’ll Jest 
step to the cart an’ help yehselves yer welcome to 
all yeh can carry. They’re Jest in good condition 
now; them yaller ones is Winchester pippins, 
an’ the others is red astrakhans, a staven good 


THE LauY of the GARDEN. 


27 


winter apple, sir. No ’casion foh thanks, a pleas- 
ure, sir; yo mighty welcome, ma’am; that’s all 
right, sir.” 

And he drowned by his rough heartiness the 
thanks of the two, and j)icked out about a peck of 
the largest ones for the girl, which she was forced 
laughingly to decline for want of means to carry 
them. 

^‘Strangers in these parts I reckon, sir,” he 
said, with the natural curiosity of country folk. 
“Travelers, eh? There’s a good many through 
here since the railroad’s been built. Yes, sir, it’s 
a long wait for them cars — a-tryen’ to pass the time 
a-walken round, I reckon?’ ’ 

“Yes, we were trying to decide which road 
would be most x)leasant for a walk.” 

“Well, sir, I reckon ye’d better take this road 
straight ahead, the best in this part o’ the State, 
sir. Takes heavy taxes to keep it in order, but 
it’s worth it, sir, it’s worth it. They’ve jest put a 
new bridge across the creek a mile back, that is 
the neatest bit of building in the county, sir, 
worth yo’ while to see it. Yeh won’t see nothen 
by going up the old trail. It hain’t been used 
any o’ late years; wild land all along it, sir. In 
the whole five mile cut o’ that hollow, I reckon 
thar ain’t a farm. A root- digger lives up in the 
hills thar somewhares; half wild, I reckon they 
be, sir, an’ that’s all I’ve eveh heard of a livin’ in 
that wild land.” 

■“ A root-digger?” 

“Yes, ma’am; folks as digs gin-sang an’ snake- 


28 


liS" love’s domains. 


root and sich. Some o’ them make right smart at 
it. These hills is full o’ gin-sang. The sto’es 
hereabouts buys it and ships it East. Some is 
sent clear to Chiney from this district. Curious 
customers them diggers be, I reckon — but not 
dangerous,” he added, hastily, as if to assure the 
girl of safety in his county. ‘‘ Oh, no, ma’am! no 
harm in them. I b’lieve I’ve heerd that the man 
was an exhorter long ago.” 

“ An exhorter?” 

‘‘ A'es’m, a sort o’ preacher; that was afore there 
was churches through here much, and folks ’ud 
gather at some neighbor’s,' and some o’ them ’ud 
read the scripter to the rest. A wild place it 
must a been afore my time, sir. I’ve only been in 
the State four year — come here from Tennessee, I 
did. Sorry yeh ain’t stoppin’ over longer, er I’de 
ask yeh out to my place; always glad to meet 
travel en folks, we are. I live at the toll-gate^ two 
mile out; if yer ever through this district again, 
ITl be glad to have yeh stop, sir. Pleased to 
have met yeh. Good-day to you, ma’am. Have 
some more ap]3les? No? Then get up, Jerry. 
Good-day, sir. Good-day.” 

The two stood munching apples in the middle 
of ‘‘the finest road in the State, sir,” and gazing 
after the talkative countryman until he turned 
into the village street. 

“ I would like to have gone home with him just 
now,” remarked the girl, “I couldn’t eat half a 
breakfast this morning, having to get up so early, 
and he looked so remarkably well fed. Did you 


THE LADY OF THE GARDEN. 


29 


observe it? In my mind’s eye I can see that 
man’s table at the farm-house; hot biscuits and 
honey, fried chicken and hominy — um!” and 
she closed her eyes to shut out the tantalizing 
vision. 

‘‘Come, come,” laughed her companion, “we 
had better continue our walk or you may be 
tempted to follow him. Which way shall we go? 
Do you want to see the new bridge?’ ’ 

“I don't believe I do,” she answered, dubi- 
ously, “that old road looks most inviting, and 
the fact of being warned against it, makes it the 
more desirable to a woman; let us try it, anyway; 
I don’t suppose the diggers wdll eat us.” 

They walked on over the old road that grew 
shadier and more picturesque as it led up a ravine 
wdiere the maples were ablaze on either hill, where 
the gurgle of a brook followed the road and 
mingled its low tones with the clear chatter of 
bird- voices that seemed singing a requiem to sum- 
mer. Slim sycamores drooped wdiite arms toward 
them, gleaming spectre-like amidst the crimson 
and yellow robes of their neighbors, looking like 
so many imprisoned Daphnes, whose white limbs 
would peep through the rough bark in which the 
startled nymph had found retreat. Laurel was 
the tree into which she merged herself, it is said, 
but the laurel is so bitter, its weight on the white 
brows of a woman has so often left deep bruises, 
and heartsease seldom grows near it, and Daphne 
was so fair, so soft, so sweet; surely she would 
have tied to the arms of those white, graceful, low- 


30 


IN love’s domains. 


murmuring sycamores. At any rate, I never see 
them without thinking of her, never hear their 
rustling without seeming to hear also her startled 
heart-beats. 

Clusters of the slim, white forms were passed by 
the two, who were all alive to the soft, half- 
saddened beauty of the autumn day. It was 
decked in all its royal robes, but the faces of 
royalty have so seldom the gladness of spring in 
them, and over this day in its perfection of Haunt- 
ing beauty, over all the bravado it affected in its 
display of charms that would lead you to think 
it yet strong with the strength of summer, over 
the struggle of pride in the proud heart that had 
slowly broken and spilled its life-blood over the 
forests, even while it smiled bravely on — over all 
this passion and pride of autumn there was 
dropping the thin, blue veil of the Indian summer; 
slowly, silently, with the surety of fate, it was 
closing in over all this glory. Saddened it was by 
the weight of the message it had to bear, for how 
could its soft voice convey any idea of the tor- 
rents of tears that were to wash all bright tints 
from the dauntless face of Nature? Of the low 
moaning of the winds that would grow into shrieks 
where the trees were strong in resistance? Of the 
white shroud that would freeze the throbbing 
pulse and send all the blood in their veins back to 
their hearts, and then down, down into the lap 
of their Mother Nature, where only warmth could 
be found? 

Could Indian summer possibly be anything but 


THE LADY OP THE GARDEN. 


31 


wistfully, dumbly sad? for slie is the messenger 
of dissolution, the Azrael of the seasons. 

The ravine grew more and more wild, great, gray 
stone shelves jutting out above and below them. 
Here and there were some grassy little plateaux 
that had evidently been cultivated at some time, 
though there were no late signs of a farmer’s 
handiwork, not even the track of a wheel on the 
old road that was half covered with grass, not 
even the tinkle of a cow -bell on the still air. 
There was the sense of rest and peace pervading 
the place. One could not imagine it belonging to 
the world of the junction and the waiting theatri- 
cal party, the grumbling of the comedian, and 
the piled-up trunks with their tinsel of mimic 
art. 

“ One can almost hear the silence,” he said, 
stopping with closed eyes for a moment. 

‘‘Nonsense!” answered Miss Practical, shying 
an apple-core down into the ravine, and startling 
a little brown bird from its leafy covert, “hear 
silence! No one but madmen or j)oets make 
such pretenses.” 

“ Well, then, we will say feel it,” he amended. 
“ More than that I will not modify my speech. 
Close your eyes for an instant and stand per- 
fectly still. Feel the silence? Of course you can. 
It gathers so near that it oppresses you as with a 
weight. It is a cloak that drapes you close and 
shuts out all sounds of humanity beyond those 
hills. You want me to think you have no imagi- 
nation, that you do not comprehend, but you are 


32 


IN love’s domains. 


only one of that class who pretend to close their 
eyes and ears to all ideality, for fear of being 
called visionary or romantic; don’t I know you? 
You constantly repress all feeling for fear of 
showing too much.” 

‘‘Hear! hear!” she broke in, laughingly, “you 
have mistaken your vocation. You should be 
delivering lectures on Ideality versus Common 
Sense. Common sense will always win, my friend, 
while your finely spun theories — ” 

She stopped short, for a bend in the old road had 
brought them suddenly on a bit of cleared ground 
on which a log cabin stood. It had disclosed itself 
so unexpectedly that the subject of conversation 
was forgotten. Quiet everything was about it; 
not a sound broke the stillness, but all the air 
was fragrant from the wealth of blossoms in the 
garden about the rustic cottage, and as they drew 
nearer they noticed, in wonder, the artistic arrange- 
ment of them — something very different from the 
patches of garden truck and a few posies, such as 
generally belonged to the cabins among the 
hills. 

There was an exquisite neatness pervading the 
whole, and a luxuriance of blossom that showed a 
care that had surely love for an aid. A path led 
from the little gate up to the door, which stood 
open. 

‘ ‘ I am determined to go in and look at those 
flowers,” announced the girl. “ I am half drunk 
with the fragrance of those roses, and there is jas- 
mine somewhere about, I know. But there is such 


THE LADY OF THE GAKDEH. 


33 


an air of sanctuary x)ervading the place — all this 
stillness, all this silence — I feel as if waiting for 
the curtain to go ux3 on a transformation scene;” 
and she laughed a little, her gaze on the open 
door. ‘ ‘ Go in, Aberdeen, you may find Beauty 
asleep waiting for the prince.” 

He walked between the ranks of drooping, odor- 
ous roses to the narrow stone step of the cabin. 
His knock was answe'fed by the sound of footsteps 
over the bare wooden floor, and an instant later a 
figure appeared in the low doorway. 

If the visitors had expected some form of youth 
and beauty, as the chatelaine of all that wealth of 
blossoms, the figure that met them was a st irtling 
disappointment. A woman it was, a woman of 
about forty-five; a small, grotesque figure, with a 
quaint, dark face, and ‘ full, steady, dark eyes. 
They were the redeeming point in a face that, 
without their keen intelligence, would have resem- 
bled an ape’s. There was a large, wide mouth, 
a flat nose, and the face, below the eyes, narrowing 
until the chin was almost a point, giving it a foxy 
or apish outline, that yet had none of the coarse- 
ness of animalism in it. It was saved from that 
by the breadth of brow and the kindly light in the 
wonderful, dark eyes, eyes that smiled at the two 
without any of the shyness so often shown in the 
manner of the country woman. 

‘‘ Good morning, madam,” said the young gen- 
tleman, a little taken aback at the quaint, unex- 
pected picture, while his companion at the gate, 
seeing only the grotesque figure, and out of the 


34 


IN love’s domains. 


range of that light in the eyes, drew back, repelled 
at sight of the peculiar-looking creature. 

“ A good day to you, sir, and to your lady, as 
well,” she answered, in a clear, low voice, with an 
intonation that saved from stiffness the stately, 
old-fashioned greeting. ‘ ‘ Will you walk in? ’ ’ 

“We only stopped to look at your beautiful gar- 
den,” said the girl, drawing nearer to the chate- 
laine of the roses. That soft voice had a mesmeric 
effect, following so close on the rej)ugnance induced 
by a first glance. “The flowers are so beautiful 
we could not resist the temptation to enter, even 
at the risk of being thought intruders.” 

“ You can not be that, young lady; it does me 
good to see young faces. They have seldfun come 
here, but are always welcome to me, and, I think, 
to the flowers.” 

The two visitors glanced quickly at each other, 
and the little woman smiled as she noticed it. 

“You think that a strange remark? ’ ’ she asked. 
“You would not if you had lived among them, 
having them as your only visible companions for 
years. But sit you down and rest. Have you 
walked far? ” 

“ Only from the junction below,” he answered; 
“we were waiting for a train north, and come up 
this ravine for a walk. The road is so grass- 
grown, we scarcely expected to find a house 
here.” 

“Yes, it has not had much travel for years, 
and is badly washed in places. Once in a great 
while, people come past here to the church-yard 


THE LADY OF THE GARDEI^. 


35 


above, but not often — not often, for tlie main road 
to it lies on the other side of the hill.” 

‘‘ You have not lived here long, then?” asked 
the girl, thinking of the unused road. 

‘ ‘ Twenty-five years next s j)ring since my hus- 
band and I came to live in this house. Time 
seems long or short, according to „ how it is lived, 
young lady. Some of the years were very short 
ones to us. He is up there now,” and she nod- 
ded her head toward a well-worn path leading up 
over a knoll beside the house, and disappearing 
in the woods above. 

‘‘Are the flowers your own special care?” 
asked the girl. ‘ ‘ Husbands, especially working 
men, have seldom time for their cultivation.” 

“He could always find time for them, he loved 
them so dearly, even as a boy, and I think — I 
think he does yet,” and her eyes looked past 
them a little wistfully toward the path up which 
her husband had evidently gone. “This rose 
tree here at the door, he planted twenty years ago 
— a little slip it was. He brought it from Missis- 
sippi one spring when the river raised, and the 
rafts were sent down with the freshet. They told 
him it would never grow here, that the climate 
was too severe, but he said it would grow for him, 
he knew, and so it did. He coaxed and petted it 
into bloom, and it has richly repaid him. It is 
the most fragrant of all the creeping things,” and 
she raised her hand, pulling down to her cheek a 
large crimson rose, whose golden heart seemed to 
open under her touch to a richer perfume, as her 


36 


IN love’s domains. 


brown fingers lingered lovingly over the shiny 
green of its leaves as she let it swing softly back 
to its place. “Yes, yes, the flowers are always 
grateful to the people who care for them, and 
they know so well the difference between earnest 
love and careless admiration. They are very 
discerning, the eyes of the flowers.” 

Her voice was the softest and sweetest the girl 
thought she had ever listened to. There was 
silence for a little while after she ceased, and 
vaguely conscious of a wish that she would continue 
to sx)eak in that soothing, mesmeric tone, after 
which any other voice would seem discordant, they 
wondered at fhe refinement of her speech, that 
was such a contrast to her surroundings. She 
looked iDOor; her dress of dark calico was worn 
and patched, the floor of her cabin was bare, while 
the furniture was most primitive; but over all 
was the neatness, the austerity one finds in the 
walls of a convent, with the subtle ak of the 
cloister through the log dwelling. 

It may have been the very unexpectedness of 
such a meeting there in the hills that made the 
two view her from such a i^icturesque standpoint. 
The girl could And no words of cynicism strug- 
gling for expression in answer to the dreamy 
fancies of this quaint lady of the garden. A cer- 
tain atmosphere pervading the place seemed to 
bar out all worldly logic, all cynicism that would 
jar on the simple, earnest character, whose X)rimi- 
tive directness of speech had unconsciously a vein 
of oriental fancy through it. 


THE LADY OF THE GARDEN. 


37 


“It is late for tlie flowers in this region, is it 
not?” asked the girl; “they will soon be gone 
now that the frosts have come.” 

“They are never gone entirely from me,” she 
answered, quietly, “ I keep them inside when the 
winter comes — all that I can move. I have had 
them so long I conld not be without them now, 
and every day I want fresh ones for him up 
there.” 

“ Your husband?” 

“Yes, young gentleman, these were his favor- 
ites,” and she gathered some golden-brown pan- 
sies, of which there was a profusion at either side 
of the door, and on the bare, deal table inside, a 
shallow dish was filled with them. “ ‘The little 
folks ’ he used to call them, and would pick out 
the ]3rettiest faces among them to bring me, in the 
school days. Across the hill on the other road, 
was the old school-house, the only one in this 
region in those days.” 

“And you were school-mates?” asked the girl, 
“and have known each other always?” 

“Always, young lady. I have no recollections 
of life without him. Twenty we both were when 
we married, and walked across the hills here to 
this house — in the spring it was. The frost was 
yet in the ground beyond the hills, but this little 
plat is so sheltered, the sun seems to seek it first, 
and that spring was sunnier than any other had 
ever been before, and the ‘little folks’ had just 
opened their eyes here where he had planted them 
for me by the window, and the hyacinths and 


38 


m love’s domains. 


crocuses were open. All through the winter he 
had worked and covered them from the cold, 
keeping them warm that they might be able to 
show their faces to us at our home-coming that 
one day.” 

“ Twenty -five years, and you remember so well 
the fiowers that were in bloom first?” 

The dark eyes smiled at the questioner. 

“ Yes, young lady, it has not been hard for me 
to remember, for it was the day of days to me, as 
it is, I think, to every woman.” 

The two young people glanced at each other. 
The thought of the conversation of an hour ago 
was in both their minds, and the girl rose quickly 
and stepped out into the path through the fiowers. 

“ I should like to look at those tuberoses,” she 
remarked, ‘‘I can smell them above all the rest.” 

‘‘ Certainly,” and the little woman arose and 
walked before them, telling them the names of 
many and the widely different natures hidden 
under their bright faces; of the crimson poppy 
that bears sleep in its crystal tears; of the fiowers 
of the sun through which Clytie was enabled 
always to keeji her face turned toward the god 
she loved; of the many varieties of roses that 
broke open their fragrant hearts monthly through 
the long winters, that their sweetness might bring 
forgetfulness of the lost summer; with here and 
there plants and fiowers of the woods, delicate, 
fragile creatures, timid and a little frightened at 
the steady stare of the sun, but trying so bravely 
to hold their heads aloft and show glad faces to 


THE LADY OF THE GARDEN. 


39 


the hand that cared for them so tenderly. The 
spiky, mottled leaves of' the pipsissewa, with its 
healing powers hidden under the shining surface, 
crept close to a cluster of odorous white violets, 
while back of them both, nodded the lemon and 
orange tints of the wild lady slipper, whose rela- 
tionship to the rare family of .orchids she ex- 
plained, and of that curious union of the hawk- 
moth and the flower that propagated the species. 
And of all she spoke as a mother speaks of dearly 
loved children, with a touch of pantheism in the 
tenderness that seemed to recognize a brother 
or sister in every atom of the plant-life about 
her. 

‘‘Look here, Aberdeen,” called the girl from 
the corner of the garden, “look at this purx)le 
mass of heliotrope.” 

“Aberdeen?” repeated the little woman, “You 
have the face of your Scottish poet, young gen- 
tleman. I thought you of his country. I have 
here that ‘ wee crimson-tipped flower,’ his song 
honored,” and she plucked a pink-tipped English 
daisy from a jar and gave it to him. 

“You read our Bard o’ Ayr, then? ” he asked. 

“We read it together often in past days. We 
had few books, but we studied them all the more 
through the winter evenings, and he was always a 
favorite. Every creeping thing had his sympathy; 
no shrinking, timid one among the flowers that 
had not his love. His voice was that of a iDrophet 
who had a message to deliver, the voice of one 
crying in the wilderness, for he made clear the 


40 


IN love’s domains. 


path for those who were to follow and showed 
them warm, homely, human hearts for their 
study, and not the outward forms of sounding 
verse. Ah, yes! Burns will always be dear to the 
lover of rugged Nature, with all her homeliness 
and all her beauty.” 

It would be impossible to give with pen and 
paper an idea of the grave sweetness of her speech, 
that seemed like the speech of one who was com- 
muning with herself, who was in the habit of utter- 
ing her thoughts without a listener. A strange 
character she seemed to those two travelers. 
She had evidently lived so much out of the ken 
of her neighbors, with only the husband, the 
flowers, and the books for companions, that there 
was a purity of expression in her tones that had 
none of the slurred intonation noticed in the 
others of the country-folk, yet she said her hus- 
band and self had lived always there. Well, 
Dame Nature plays strange freaks sometimes. 
It had evidently been her caprice to place those 
two souls together, thoroughly in sympathy with 
each other, yet seemingly so thoroughly cut off 
from all communication with their kind. 

Books, the great refiners of the mind, had not 
been read by her carelessly. In all her conversa- 
tion was the mark of thought. From the flowers 
she seemed to have culled similies that Avere 
applied to the actual life about her with the 
imagination of a poet, and the pure diction of a 
scholar, and withal had a stately simplicity of 
expression tliat was not the speech of our times. 


THE LADY OF THE GARDE:^^. 


41 


To hear her talk was like hearing the lines of 
Scott or of Lytton. 

‘ ‘ I saw her books on that little shelf by the 
door- way,” whispered the girl to her compan- 
ion. ‘‘There was the Bible, Goldsmith’s Ani- 
mated Nature, Swift’s Letters, and Taine’s Lit- 
erature, besides a few without covers. Suppose 
we had to coniine our reading to those, we would 
think ourselves back in the dark ages.” 

The little lady seemed altogether delighted to 
hear their admiring praise of her garden. 

“It is as he planned it years ago,” she said, 
“before he went up there, and to see it changed 
in any way would be a grief to him, I think. 
You see this grass,” and she pointed to a great 
tuft of the white and green ribbon-grass near the 
paling, ‘ ‘ that came from his mother’ s garden 
years ago, before she had left our world. I use it 
always to tie together the howers for him in the 
morning. I fancy it will please him most. As 
children we used to search for hours to find two 
of the blades exactly alike, but we never could; 
they are as varied as the faces our Maker has 
given to humanity. Did you ever think of that 
mighty work of the Master who never gives a 
duplicate, always an original to this magnificent 
gallery of his— the world? The flowers bring us 
so many lessons if we but oiDen our ears to listen. 
I have listened and watched them so long that I 
have few thoughts not associated with them. 
This may all seem strange to you who lead such a 
different life.” 


42 


IN love’s domains. 


“I think your companions most beautiful,” 
said the girl, imjiulsively, ‘ ‘ and as for you — well, 
I do not wonder they love you. You seem made 
for each other. VVe have been more than enter- 
tained to-day, and you have given us lessons from 
the flowers that I promise you will not be care- 
lessly forgotten.” 

The laughing, mocking light was all gone from 
the level-looking eyes of the girl, and her voice 
was not quite steady. For once she was earnest 
with an earnestness that did not cloak itself 
with cynicism. There was something in the sim- 
ple life and speech of the little lady that bespoke 
a grand patience and a simple veneration such as 
is conferred only by the kiss of God. The 
young woman of the world felt this dimly, felt 
drawn by the mesmeric tones into a higher, purer 
atmosphere, into the air that is breathed by those 
who live outside the artiflcial boundaries of what 
is called our world, to whom the life blood of 
thought has been given warm from the veins that 
lie closest to the heart of nature. 

‘‘And I thought her homely,” said the girl, 
softly, to her companion, as she gathered some of 
the bright grass to tie some roses given by the 
generous brown hand. “Homely! I can not 
realize it now.” 

“ She is grand,” he answered in the same tone, 
“and to think that every morning she presents to 
her husband a bouquet of these blossoms. Where 
can you find a more delicate manner of exi)ressing 
devotion"^ I should like to see him; he must be 


THE LADY OF THE GAEDEJ^. 


43 


an exceptional man to be worthy of her. It is an 
ideal home desj^ite the x^i’iiTiitive surroundings, 
for it is a marriage as such a marriage was surely 
intended to be. In hearing her speak of him it 
recalls the old legend of a soul divided into two 
bodies, and sent out into the world to find its 
mate. It sounds visionary but holds truth in it 
when seen in the light that seems to encircle this 
retreat. 

The little lady came up to them with a fragrant, 
snowy stalk of tuberose, which she handed to 
the girl. 

‘‘ They are almost gone,” she said, “there are 
but two stalks left, one I give you to remember 
this morning’ s walk by, and that you have given 
pleasure to a lone woman by the sight of your 
bright young faces; the other one I keep for him 
to-morrow.” 

“ Then you are lonely sometimes? ” 

“Alone, not lonely, young gentleman,” she 
amended. “Once I was lonely here; it was 
years ago, when these hands had the impulsive 
blood of youth in them. It is so hard to school 
them into patience, ah, I know, I know! Though 
the long nights of one winter rebellion made 
them clench fiercely, instead of folding meekly 
to His will, and it was sx)ring time ere the mes- 
sage was brought that lifted the weight from my 
life. All best things have been given me by the 
spring time, and when the day comes that He is 
to take me up there, I feel it will be when the 
crocuses and hyacinths open, the same season as 


44 


IN love’s domains. 


when we walked hand in hand across the hills to 
our home. I should like to think that on some 
such a day we could go the same way to the feet 
of our Maker. Well, it was in the springtime, 
and the trees were but half fledged, just bits of the 
tender green peeping through the rough winter 
coats. You see that quivering, trembling tree by 
my door? It is the quaking aspen; there are 
many in our woods. Do you know the story of 
the passion they witnessed centuries ago, the 
memory of which has thrilled their hearts to the 
core ever since? He told me of it long ago, when 
he planted it there. ‘Sometime, my wife,’ he 
said, ‘ we may need a reminder of this life that 
was given for us, and this promise of immortality 
through which we know that this life of ours is 
only an interval, an atom in the grand structure 
of our Father’s universe. Rebellion may come to 
us in our blindness sometime, but we will have 
here a whispering reminder of a love passing that 
of humanity.’ 

“Those were his words, young gentleman. It 
is years since I heard them, but it is not hard to 
keep in your memory the words of a voice that is 
dearest to you of all others. And then he told 
me the story of the aspen tree. The cross of 
Christ, they say, was made from its white wood. 
The blood given His earthly form stained the deli- 
cate grain, and sent through all its species a 
shudder that centuries can not still. It is an old 
legend; he knew so many, and could tell them so 
earnestly, that they carried always some lesson 


THE LADY OF THE GARDEY. 


45 


under strange fancies. Well, it was in the spring 
time after long months of grief over my great 
loss. I was lying awake in the early dawn, re- 
bellious at the thought of days yet to be lived, 
when a soft whispering rustle came to my ears — 
so soft that it carried a soothing sense of rest to a 
mind tired through impotent battles. I can not 
convey to you the feeling borne to my senses by 
that whispering sound. I lay quite still, holding 
my breath as I listened. There came to me anon 
his words of the tree and its mission; and with 
the first green leaves of the spring it seemed striv- 
ing to whisper to me a reminder of that grand 
patience that could say, ‘ Thy will be done.’ That 
morning I rose from my bed a different i3erson. 
The whispering aspen had brought to me the 
thoughts he meant it should bear to us when he 
planted it there. Something gave me a higher 
hope, a stronger faith that morning. I have tried 
to live by it ever since, and it is not so hard now. 
I am lonely no more. I have his thoughts, often 
his presence, with me, I think, and I have always 
the whispers of the trembling aspen, and the les- 
sons of the blossoms; they do not leave me 
lonely.” 

‘ ‘ But your husband V ’ 

‘‘He is up there, young gentleman, up in the 
churchyard on the hill. It is eighteen years since 
he was taken there to rest. ‘ I was a young woman, 
then, young and strong, and the dread of my life 
alone was terrible at first. But every day takes 
me nearer to him, and when age cree]DS closer and 


46 


IN love’s domains. 


the blood flows slower and slower in the veins, it 
is not so hard to wait.” 

Tears were in the eyes of the young people as 
she flnished her story, told quietly, earnestly, and 
with a patience in the quaint, dark face, that was 
touching. 

Eighteen years repeated the girl, as the 
sense of all those years of loneliness came slowly 
to her — all those years of devotion to a memory; 
‘‘eighteen years, and you here alone through them 
all, with no other companions? With no thought 
of marriage that would — ’ ’ 

“You do not understand, young lady,” she 
said, quietly. “I had loved him, had been his 
wife; how then could I think of another?” 

The girl bent her head to the reproof, uttered in 
the sweet, soft tones. 

“I thank you,” she said, softly, and reaching 
out a white hand, laid it gently on the brown one 
that had wrested its living from the herbs of the 
woods for so many years. The old eyes smiled on 
her kindly. 

“It is a lesson you will learn without words 
from others, young lady, that is, if you use your 
eyes in the study of your own kind, and in the 
world you will And as many types for study as 
there are ribbons of grass in the held. But, among 
them all, you will And nq woman content with 
the content that will last through old age, save 
the woman who has known honest love and been 
true to it all the days of her life.” 

Her two listeners as by one impulse rose to their 


THE LADY OF THE GAKDEN. 


47 


feet as she tinished speaking, and there was an 
added reverence in the manner of the tall young 
fellow as he stood bare-headed, looking down at 
the patient, quaint face, and holding out his hand 
in farewell. 

‘‘I can not tell you the pleasure this meeting has 
been to me,” he said, earnestly, his blue eyes moist 
with a great sympathy with this strange charac- 
ter. “ I thank you for telling us your story. It 
will be a memory that will help me all my life to 
have faith in human nature.” 

‘‘God be good to you, young gentleman,” she 
said, simply. ‘ ‘ I think it was the likeness to the 
eyes of your poet that shone through your own — 
his eyes with a comprehension of the needs of 
humanity that made it seem natural to speak to 
you so. It might be diihcult with some, but I 
felt you would understand.” 

Their hands were clasped closely for an instant, 
and then with alow “thank you!” on his part, an 
earnest “God be with you!” on hers, he turned 
and walked down the odorous path of roses, the 
tints of all sadly confused and blended by the 
tears in his eyes that did no discredit to his man- 
liness. The girl stooped and kissed the old face, 
but could find no words of farewell to utter. It 
was a strange parting, but the silence was more 
exx)ressive than words could have been. 

The two walked, without speaking, down the 
road to the bend, where they both stopped and 
looked back. The little lady was still standing 
by the open door under the quivering aspen, and, 


48 


IN love’s domains. 


shading her eyes with her hand, was gazing after 
them. 

The girl turned away with the sound of a sob 
in her firm, white throat. 

‘‘And I thought her hideous,” she said, trem- 
ulously. “ Heaven forgive me, she is beautiful!” 
and then, still under the spell of the scene they 
had just left, she held out her hand to her com- 
loanion. 

“ May your bonnie lassie be always as true as 
that woman. May your love be always to you 
what hers has been — a sacrament.” 


A ROMAUNT. 

THE PEOFESSOR’S STORY. 


I have not been a romance writer heretofore — 
not even a romance reader since the beginning of 
my college days. I have tried conscientiously to 
read u^) in late fiction, with the idea of gaining a 
bit of literary style for this story of mine. But 
the title has been all I have secured so far. It 
sounded literary, so I took it. But between the 
spasmodical emotional school that suggests hys- 
teria, and the ]3hysicological theories that suggest 
opium, toasted to the right consistency, I con- 
cluded that my bump of ideality was not equal 
to the elements required for the enamel of modern 
fiction. 

Then I visited a couple of literary acquaint- 
ances, and heard discourses on story-constructing 
from the pufied-sleeved, straight-gowned sort, 
who wear sad-looking, slimsy stuffs, of jaundice 
tints and bilious shades. One of them talked to 
me three hours, on a hot day, of her dream -chil- 
dren that gained entrance to earth, and the eyes of 
men, through the workings of the thing she called 
her soul; and the other one never spoke of her 

4 ( 49 ) 


50 


IX love’s domains. 


storieSy it was always life, my tliouglit, the 
child of my brain.” 

After an interview with each, I concluded this 
effort at fiction would have to be one without trim- 
mings. 

There are two ]3eople in this story. There may 
have been more. I think there was. But in the 
commencement of it here, I can only think of 
the two ; and when she was seventeen, and he 
was twenty- three, they only thought of one an- 
other. 

There is a village in the story — a village they 
were both born in — its name was Darlington — no 
matter about the State. But it is one of the good, 
old-fashioned i^laces that refuse to change its so- 
lidity of opinion for the flimsiness of modern 
advancement. A town that is still proud of its 
leading citizens, who appealed to the Legislature 
to prevent a railroad from coming Avithin several 
miles of it, and succeeded. 

There Avas a young ladies’ seminary at one end 
of its longest street, and a medical college at the 
other, so it was a jdace of learning — of intellect, 
into AAdiich a railroad Avould have brought stran- 
gers and other disturbing elements — so thought 
the residents, among them the parents of the 
young man, and the maiden aunt of the young 
lady — the hero and heroine of this romaunt. 

I state this in the beginning, that it may be 
knoAvn just Avhat they are. I object to mysteries; 
labels i^inned to characters in stories might not be 
thought ornamental, but I think they would 


A KOMAUIS-T. 


51 


save readers a deal of time in trying to solve puz- 
zles, so I label mine. 

I believe it is the usual thing in an educational 
institution, to single out the one that is a little 
dreamier than the rest of the dreamy ones, and if 
she can make rhymes her chums are proud of her 
and call her the school-poet. 

The girl of my story was the poetess of Darling- 
ton seminary, and added to that she was the 
prettiest girl in town— so she was termed at all 
events; and there was not a student in the medical 
college who would not have sworn that her eyes 
held more poems than her verses. Not but what 
they were good verses. They may have been. I 
am not a judge. 

A good many of the best of them — so she said 
then — were composed after walks on moonlight 
evenings with the hero. His name was — well, 
sometimes she called him Coeur de Leon, when 
some extra nerve of his in the dissecting room — 
the strength to look on severed flesh and scraped 
bones — made her shudder with fear, and then raise 
her blue eyes to his auburn mustache, with a look 
of admiring adoration, then it was that she gave 
him the titles of ideal warriors. And on Sundays 
when he wore his best clothes and read decor- 
ously in the Bible-class in the morning, and in 
the afternoon stood up facing the congregation, 
and sang with the choir — he sang bass — then it 
was she attributed to him those elements of 
angeldom, and called him — in her thoughts and 
the verse that was published in the county papers 


62 


IN love’s domains. 


— Sir Galahad; his own name was Thomas Q. 
Sefton. 

The course of their love ran very smoothly. 
There were of course some days of desperation 
and some nights of sleeplessness, when one of the 
other fellows became more attentive than he had 
any business to be. But those two, who had taken 
bites from the same stick of candy in their pina- 
fore days, would not long allow a disturbing ele- 
ment in their devotion. In fact, the advent of 
the other fellow hastened a formal avowal of 
something that had before been but a stammering 
supposition to their guileless young hearts. 
There were no dissenting j)arents or guardians in 
the case. In fact, their families were so delighted 
with the engagement that one would have sup- 
posed them each to be superfluous characters — 
not desirable in the homes of their relatives. 
Such, however, was not the case, they were nice 
young people, ambitious and virtuous. 

I state all this in the beginning, that you may 
know the idyl of their young lives was a flawless 
one; the sort of perfect love that casts out fear — 
of the divorce courts. It was the sort of affec- 
tion, if any there be, that is conducive to con- 
stancy and the unwavering style of thing that ties 
hearts together and jogs them along to a double 
tombstone. 

I have a reason for desiring to impress this fact 
of flawlessness on the reader. If this is ever x)ub- 
lished the reason will be apparent. There are 
two other men writing each a story while I am 


A KOMAUNT. 


53 


doing this. They have their reasons, too. When 
they are all done an editor is to read them, and if 
he ever discovers any reason why they should be 
published, he is to pay us a salary for the 
romances. Salary may not be the correct word 
to a literary ear, but it means money, any way. 
I do not know what the other two are writing 
about, only that they are to tell love stories. 

They may tell a more stylish story than mine; 
no doubt they will. They may even be able to 
make the love in theirs manifest through the 
action or speech of their lovers, while I have to 
boldly state the fact of mine and depend on 
either the imagination or reminiscences of the 
reader to help me out. All of you have some 
time had a girl, a best girl, and know as well as I 
do the sort of conversations, and dreams of bliss 
they indulge in. I suppose every pair of them 
say about the same thing, with variations. 

But though the other two may tell a more lit- 
erary story than mine, I doubt if either of them 
can get for a foundation a more closely filtered, 
condensed extract of Paradise than the devotion, 
in the beginning, of these two nice young people 
of. Darlington. 

Til ere was to be no haste about their union. 
Each had, after a searching of their inmost souls, 
decided in solemn exchange of vows that their 
love was one of the unchangeable things in the 
universe. They had endurance to wait until the 
short years would bring them closer to their ambi- 
tious hopes. Each had a yearning to take into 


54 


IN love’s domains. 


their united beds and boards the first fruits of 
their young brains, bound in Russia leather. Her 
poems, and his articles on Medicinal Semeiotics 
that were already gaining him notice among the 
students. And they would gaze pensively into 
each other’s eyes, feeling themselves very brave 
in thus setting their love ahead of them for the 
sake of learning, feeling the great sacrifice they 
were making. 

‘‘It is on your account, Tommett,” she said, 
sweetly. She called him Tommett as a pet name, 
a dear term known only to them two selves — their 
only secret. “ It is for your loved sake that it is 
so. You must mount untrammeled to the higher 
rungs of anatomical studies, satisfy the craving of 
your soul, and search through the fleshly veil for 
the evidence of — of — whatever you are looking for, 
ere I will consent to share entirely your hours or 
be the innocent cause of neglect to those delvings 
that are to enrich the world of science. Our love 
is unalterable; we can wait.” 

As I said before, I am not a judge of verse, but 
suppose those who are will understand by her 
language that she was a poet. As for Tommett, 
he felt just as she did, but he could not say it like 
that. It was a big thing to know that the i^ret- 
tiest girl in town is to belong, heart and soul, to a 
fellow, supposing, of course, that it is the right 
fellow. Tommett felt that it was. And when the 
prettiest girl is also called a genius, what sort of 
love would it be that did not seek to foster the 
divine flame? So he thought, and so he told 


A ROM AUNT. 


55 


Minna Evolina tenderly. She should continue her 
maiden meditations and string them into verse 
that would lead his prosxDective bride to fame. It 
was a great sacrifice to give her ui^ to anything, 
even to metre and rhyme. But it was for her 
dear sake; that thought alone made him resigned. 

The susx3ended union made them both feel like 
modern Spartans, and it helloed them both in a 
practical way. It made Tommett feel of much 
more importance, gave him more confidence in 
himself The adoration of a genius and the strength 
required for the postponement of the marriage 
ceremony are enough to make any young fellow 
have a belief in himself. 

As for Minna Evolina, it was so much stock in 
trade to her. If the mooidight walks and the 
choir singing were inspirations to her, so also were 
the throes of love that rocked her soul in the cra- 
dle of poesy. I take that sentence from one of 
the remembered poems. It sounds literary, and 
as I have no style of my own to embellish this 
romance with, I should think it allowable to bor- 
row from one of the characters in it. 

The nearest tiling to grief that came between 
them was Minna Evolina’ s fear that at times her 
chosen did not enter into the spirit of her verse as 
a kindred soul should. K'ow the young man felt 
the thrill of a kindred soul when he squeezed her 
fingers or asked if he could kiss her. She always 
said yes, and he always did it. But he edged 
away from the subject of poems when possible; he 
acknowledged that he was too practical to under- 


56 


IX love’s domains. 


stand them always. But they were hers; there- 
fore he loved them, and at that point in the conver- 
sation he generally kissed her again — they were 
very devoted. 

“ My dreamy fancies may seem too ethereal to 
you,” she said, one blissful evening — “even silly 
to your more practical and profound style of 
thought. But believe me, Tommett, whatever the 
theme — whether subtle or shallow — it has always 
you and our love for a key-note. Ah, that I could 
sing you into the hearts of the people as you are 
in mine own.” 

She said ‘ ‘ mine own, ’ ’ and ‘ ‘ dost thou, ’ ’ and 
other terms that are poetic. That evening, she 
said: “And dost thou love me, Tommett? ’ ’ And 
the young man said, “ I dost, dearest,” and then 
wondered for an hour after, just what it was he 
replied, and if it was or was not grammatical, 
and he was not a dull fellow either. But you 
get a pretty girl, on a summer evening, in a white 
dress, and have her ask you the same question 
in the same way, and see if it does not knock 
the contents of school-books out of your head 
instanter. It takes just about thirty seconds 
of that sort of existence, with kisses between 
breaths, to convince any student that book-bind- 
ings do not cover a monopoly of knowledge after 
all. 

“And wbat would you do to iDrove your love 
for me? ” she continued, sweetly, looking up 
at him with iDensively-rolling eyes, and he 
deftly circled her slim waist with one of his 


A EOMAUNT. 


57 


arms, and without hesitation said, with sweeping 
certainty : ‘ ‘ Anything — everything. ’ ’ 

, And he meant it, too. 

He was laconic, but he was intense. The pro- 
fessor of the college whom he admired most in 
those days, was also laconic. At first it may 
have been a refiected manner that gradually 
became the young man’s own. Minna Evolina 
liked it. She said it lent majestj^ to his charac- 
ter and she liked majesty in a man — it made her 
seem very weak and very childish beside him, as 
if he was the strong oak and she the clinging vine, 
and she wondered if he would ever grow tired of 
her woman -like dependence on Ijim and his ideas, 
and he said he never would — he hoped she would 
always cling, and then he kissed her again, and 
tightened his arm a little around her waist, tight 
enough to notice that the dress she wore fitted her 
entirely too snugly. He envied that dress with a 
lover's greediness, even while he, as her future 
husband and sometime medical adviser, told her 
gently and friendly, that three of her ribs were 
compressed to a degree that was not consistent 
with continued health, and that her dressmaker 
must be allowed more material, and that she must 
have more breathing room. 

And she said she would speak to Aunt Hennie 
of it in the morning, and of course dear Tommett’s 
opinion was right, she thought a dutiful wife’s 
ideas were always a refiex of her husband’s, and 
she wanted him to see how entirely she meant to 
mold herself to his wishes. 


68 


IN love’s domains. 


They were very happy and very guileless — a 
modern Adam and Eve before the fruit season. 

It was about this period in their devotion that 
Aunt Hennie became afflicted, or endowed, with 
an internal ailment, a disarrangement of digest- 
ive organs, for which she was advised to try the 
German springs of Carlsbad. Aunt Hennie was 
a nice old lady, Tommett had always liked her, 
and he forgives her for her ailment now. But 
just then he was distraught over the thought that 
Minna Evolina was to bear her aunt company, 
and time and again during the days of preparation 
did he swear, in the privacy of his mother’ s house, 
that dear Aunt Hennie’ s greatest ailment was a 
superabundance of appetite, and that if nature 
had studied her needs more closely she would 
have been gifted witli the digestive apparatus 
of an ostrich or a goat. 

But the day of parting grew closer, and the 
vows of faithfulness more intense and more sure 
of being kept. 

They each had new daguerreotypes taken, and 
he put a lock of his hair in the case of his and 
gave it to her ; and she cut one of the beau- 
catchers from above her ear and put in the case of 
hers for him. She also, as an emblem of constancy 
in absence, gave him a bunch of immortelles tied 
with a green and pink ribbon. 

And then the day came when he squeezed her 
fingers for the last time, and kissed her while she 
wept becomingly. And he kissed Aunt Hennie, 
also, and set her lunch-basket in easy reach of her 


A JIOMAUXT. 


59 


fat arms, and said to lier in an aside of intense 
feeling: Take good care of my darling for me.” 

And Aunt Hennie, wlio did not hear very well, 
gave liim a second kiss, and told him not to worry, 
for she would take as good care of herself as she 
could. And he heard her say to Minna Evolina 
that she never imagined Thomas had so deep an 
aifection for his Aunt Hennie as he had showm at 
parting. 

And then the carr^^-all drove out of sight, start- 
ing its occupants on the road to the nearest sea- 
port. And Tommett went sadly back to his room, 
and looked at her i3ictnre, and kissed the immor- 
telles, and tried to remember some of her verses, 
and couldn* t, and then finished the evening in a 
lonely but instructive way — mounting on wdres 
the bones and sinews of a hand that had a few 
weeks before been interred from the county poor- 
house. 

And thus between the soothing proof of her 
love that was exerted over him when he looked at 
the yellow white of the blossoms, and the elation 
of doing a delicate piece of structure in arranging 
the glistening blue-white of the sinews — thus 
between two tones of feeling as one may say, each 
masterful in its own way — he began his life alone. 

Those two added considerably to the revenues 
of two governments in the next few months, their 
correspondence being warm and weighty. Tom- 
mett was working with a vim born of sacrificing 
love and scholarly ambition. She might not 
return for a year, but in that year he determined 


60 


love’s domains. 


that his native town and its prettiest girl should 
be proud of his achievements. Before six of the 
months had passed he was promoted to the post 
of assistant instructor in craniometry — it did not 
pay him anything, but it was a tribute paid by 
the faculty to his superior knowledge — there was 
the honor. He had also prepared some papers on 
‘‘ H National Physiognomy^'^ for which he had 
Lavater as evidence for his theories. Those papers 
gained him special notice, several times he was 
greeted as “Professor’’ by the other students, 
and wdiile a few of them — fellows from other 
States — had laughed when they said it, yet that 
taste of supremacy fixed his decision that he 
would have that title by right as well as courtesy. 
He examined his own cranium closely— it was a 
round head — a compact head. He thought he 
could see a resemblance to the first Napoleon in 
its general traits, that gave him confidence of his 
own powers of perseverance — and perseverance 
and the genius of hard study are the necessities 
of success. So he plunged deeper than ever into 
the studies. He would be a specialist — it was the 
specialists who were the men of mark in those 
days — he would be a marked man. And his special 
study — his hobby as one may say, should be his 
old love — phrenology. 

All this he told Minna Evolinaby mail, and sent 
her copies of his articles on Physiognomy vs. 
Pathognomy^ also a trifle on Average accumula- 
tion of gall of the different races. 

And she congratulated him in poetical Ian- 


A KOMAUNT. 


61 


guage and sent him copies of her late verses and 
a synopsis of the others she intended writing. 
And Aunt Hennie gave him by letter.a diagnosis 
of the benefit Carlsbad waters had been to her. 
She liked Europe, it agreed with her; she 
expected to remain there some time. She was 
going south for the winter into Italy, where she 
had distant relatives living, whom she never had 
seen. Minna Evolina was becoming saturated, as 
it were, with the scholarly and literary elements 
in which she found herself in Germany. Her 
foreign friends prophesied great things of her 
when her provincialisms would disappear, and 
nothing was so conducive to that end, said 
Aunt Hennie, as travel and life in strange coun- 
tries. As for the marriage, they were both very 
young, they could afford to wait. 

Minna Evolina said about the same thing, but 
it was in a poetical, pleading letter, asking sweetly 
for permission from her intended to prolong her 
stay. And he read it with the feeling of a man 
who owns property, and graciously granted her 
request. 

So the first year went by, and about that time 
Minna Evolina dropped a little loose from verses 
and took to prose writing. The poetry satisfied 
her soul needs best, but the prose was the only 
thing editors would pay her for, and as editors’ 
checks mean fame she dropped the poems, except 
a few straggling ones to Tommett. 

But the straggles grew less as she gradually was 
changed from a pensive maiden penning verses into 


62 


IX love’s domaixs. 


a would-be professional woman who liked to see 
‘ ‘ journalist ’ ’ added to her name. And as the prose 
work was noj so easy to submit to his judgment 
he saw no more of her work in manuscripts. The 
editor of the most eager magazine grew to be the 
person for whom her heart throbbed — on paper. 

At first he did not like the change, but the 
more he thought of it in a sensible, practical 
light, the more he understood it was a natural 
transition. She could not always remain the 
childish creature she had been, and also accom- 
pany a man through earnest life and win fame 
for herself on the way. And he finally convinced 
himself that he should be glad that this change 
was fitting her more fully for the honorary posi- 
tion she would some day hold as the wife and 
helpmeet of a man of mark — an authority on the 
scientific and fascinating study of craniology. 
Such was his ambition, and to that end the home 
of 1 1 is parents was made a museum of brain cov- 
erings, a collection of skulls that was the finest 
owned by any private individual in the State. 
Many of his profession visited him and went 
away impressed by the wonderful application of 
so young a man, and cited his industry and 
enthusiasm to others. Thus he became talked 
about; to be talked about is fame. He was 
famous in his own region, and he had patience 
and youth enough to afford to wait for the fame 
of the world. 

As his professional duties and studies widened, 
so did his corres]Dondence, and, to Minna Evolina, 


A ROM AUNT. 


63 


he was by necessity forced to send shorter epistles 
than at first. But he explained it fully to her, 
and she understood it fully; thus there was per- 
fect understanding between them, never a discord 
or a doubt. At the end of the second year. Aunt 
Hennie really died, to Tommett’s surprise. Her 
niece was, of course, overwhelmed with grief, and 
wrote that for the present she would remain 
abroad with dear Aunt Hennie’ s relatives. She 
did not ask permission this time, she probably 
forgot it in her grief, so he thought, as he read 
her letter, and laid it aside to put new wires in 
the latest addition to his collection — the cranium 
of a deceased Zuni, whose breadth of jaw-bone 
helped prove a theory he had been interested in 
for some time. 

Did I speak before of the appearance of Tom- 
mett? I believe not. He never made any pre- 
tense of being a handsome man, but he did fiatter 
himself on having an impressive personality. He 
had heard it said that once seen, his face was not 
one to be easily forgotten — in fact, never to be 
forgotten. Another instance of resemblance to 
the first Napoleon. He was one of the men who 
grow bald very early. At first, when he had to 
brush his thin, auburn locks over his forehead, he , 
was filled with a natural human regret, at the 
thought that Minna Evolina might not admire 
him as of yore. But a look at the daguerreotype 
and the immortelles reassured him. They were 
enthroned in a place of honor — on the largest, 
broadest skull in his collection — that of a Hano- 


64 


IN love's domains. 


verian Dutchman. And looking at these memen- 
tos of her that Ibrought back to him her vows of 
devotion — if need be, of sacrifice, he knew that a 
few hairs more or less would make no difference 
in her heart, and in his profession it gave him 
an added weight. I do not know why it is that a 
bald man, or a married man, can gain more confi- 
dence in professional work than their opposites — 
but such is a fact, perhaps from the idea that they 
have each seen trouble, and so know how to give 
sympathy to others. And when Tommett was 
given by scholarship, instead of courtesy, the title 
of iMofessor, his cranium had made itself visible 
through his hair to a considerable extent, it 
seemed to fit him for those extra degrees. And 
he was happy, the only fiaw being the absence of 
his loved one, whom he was sorry had to wait the 
time of a tedious mail ere she heard of the honors 
that would one day be shared by her. 

And so in everything did their thoughts go 
across the ocean where the other one was. 

She had been gone over three years when 
Thomas Q. Sefton, Professor of Anatomy in Dar- 
lington College, was offered a permanent position 
by the faculty, who decided he was too valuable 
to lose. He was twenty-seven at that time, but 
looked ten years older, perhaps because of the 
baldness, perhaps because of the studious delvings 
among his specimens. Nothing, however, in 
his appearance could alter the fact that the 
position was one to be proud of. It was a 
permanency. He was, in a way, settled for 


A EOMAUl^T. 


65 


life, and had now some time to think of getting 
married. 

And to Minna Evolina he intimated as much. 
But he did not call her Minna Evolina any longer, 
she objected. Her Italian friends had said it was 
provincial, and much too long. Evoli, she thought, 
was better. It had been considered so for her lit- 
erary work, and she wrote her name M. Evoli 
Brattlesex. 

She was as willing as he that at last their mar- 
riage should be consummated — so she said, and 
she said also that so far in her life, her loved work 
and her dear Thomas had been the only rivals in 
her heart. 

He noticed that she did not call him Tommett 
any more, but told himself, like a philosopher, 
that they must both expect changes. Their affec- 
tion would be the same, of course; but they were 
four years older than at their separation, and 
would, of course, express themselves differently. 
She wrote him she was going on a short tour into 
Sicily with some friends. After that she was to 
sail for America, and two of her Italian cousins 
were to come with her. One of them was also a 
writer. She called him Cousin Eduard. They 
were to make the intended tour with the idea of 
finding types for future fiction. 

In fact, her later letters were full of types where 
they used to be full of poems. She never seemed 
to meet people any more. They were all ‘ ‘ stud- 
ies” or ‘‘types” or “characters.” 

Of course, he knew those were merely profes- 

5 


66 


IN love’s domains. 


sional terms, acquired tlirougli her acquaintance 
with journalism. They did not quite appear to 
suit the clinging vine he had kissed when he 
wanted to; but for all that, he knew that, aside 
from her work, his M. Evoli would be the same. 

He put on his newest suit when going to call on 
her immediately on her arrival; and then he took 
it off again and sat looking at it in doubt. 

He was hard to fit in iiantaloons. His frame 
was all right, but it was lacking in the covering 
of fleshy tissue, that gives voluptuous curves to 
forms. The pantaloons of that suit looked better 
than such garments usually did, yet he hesitated. 
Should he indulge his vanity and wear them and 
the coat to match, or should he wear the older 
suit, that had grown used to him? Would she 
not rather see him, the itlaymate of her youth, in 
the less pretentious garb that bespoke ease to 
himself, perhaps to her? He knew that ere they 
met, she would have learned from her Aunt Lucy 
the enviable position he now held; that where she 
had left him an unknown student, she w^ould And 
him a personage spoken of with i3ride by his towns- 
people. He knew her timid, clinging nature. 
He remembered her nervousness and her impres- 
sionability, that was equaled only by a phono- 
graph. He knew that, in view of the many changes 
that had passed — dear Aunt Hennie — the meeting 
must be trying to her — and he felt himself com- 
forting her already, but not feeling quite so sure of 
what he would say to her as he used to be; only she 
must not be made more nervous by any show of the 


A KOMAUNT. 


67 


greatness that had come to him. No! she must 
be made to forget the professor for a little while, 
and remember only the student. 

And he looked at the lengthwise crease down 
the knees of the new broadcloths and sighed, and 
picked np the old ones, on which the creases ran 
crosswise, and pulled them on. 

Do not think that a trifling sacrifice; it was not. 

All the way along the placid street of Darling- 
ton he pictured to himself their meeting. He 
expected a few tears. He remembered that his 
mother and his sister always wept when going 
away on a Journey or coming home from one. 
His masculine mind had not, as yet, quite grasped 
the reason; but he supposed they all did it. 

He hoped her other aunt would have considera- 
tion enough to let their meeting be- a private one, 
and keep herself out of the way. Aunt Hennie 
had never been out of the way. And then he 
remembered that dear Aunt Hennie was no doubt 
stopping with relatives now who would gladly 
give up all the room they had to her, he must not 
harbor bitter memories, or be more ungenerous 
than they, he would think only of the fond 
creature waiting impatiently his coming. 

And with that happy, idiotic delusion, he 
sounded the knocker. 

Jim, their colored man-of-all-work, opened the 
door. 

‘‘Yes, sah, they’s done come home,” he 
answered, with smiling pomposity, and was about 
to precede our hero to the parlor, when he said: 


68 


IN love’s domains. 


‘‘I know tlie way. I will announce myself.” 

The door was slightly ajar, someone was touch- 
ing the keys of the piano disjointedly, and he 
could hear someone else laughing. 

‘'Ah, yes, nia belle cousin,” he heard a man 
say, “it is as you say to us — all very quaint — 
very old fashion — your birthplace. But it is not 
the oldness that inspires. The age of your 
America is like the age of old gaiuients— it is 
flimsy; but the age of Italy is the age of old 
marble — it is enduring.” 

“You are incorrigible, Cousin Eduard,” said 
the soft, sugary voice he remembered, “you 
see nothing beautiful here because everything is 
not in ruins.’' 

“ I venture to contradict a lady, since I see you 
here,” he said, and then another woman laughed 
and said: 

“I knew you would say that, Eduard, you 
never could resist temptation. How you are to 
exist here witliout peasant girls to flirt with, is, to 
me, a puzzle, you and Evoli will, in desperation, 
develop into the most extreme of type-hunters.” i 
“I cannot flatter myself that I am to have the 
monopoly of our cousin now,” said the man in a j 
dreamy, distressed tone, ‘ ‘ there is a fiance here j 
you must know, together they will go hunting | 
for tyiDes, and alone will Eduard be forgot.” j 
“What is he like?” asked the woman’s voice ; 
again. “You are so sly, you have not even i 
shown me his picture. Have you one? Is he 
handsome? I know his profession, he is very , 


A KG M AUNT. 


69 


learned, is lie not? so your dear aunt told me. 
Shall we see him soon? will he help you to hunt 
for types, or will he furnish you one himself, tell 
ns all about him.” 

Our hero did not intend listening at first. He 
only wanted to know if she who held him nearest 
and dearest was inside the parlor door. But the 
man's voice had checked his entrance for a 
moment, he hesitated, and was lost. He was 
not a society man, he had no time for its 
trifles. His daring was undoubted when its 
application was needed for his professional work, 
but he shrank from meeting strangers with the 
timidity of a recluse. Hearing the conversation 
made him wish he had kept on the other panta- 
loons, and then he wished he had let Jim announce 
him, he knew Jim would have given him his full 
title, and that might helj) overbalance the cross- 
wise creases of the old ones, and then he slid 
away a little from the parlor door, and wondered 
if he could get out the back way without being 
seen or commented on. He could retul^n later 
with new clothes and more confidence. 

In the dread of meeting foreign strangers, under 
existing circumstances, he could not remember as 
he got out the back door just what the errand 
was that had taken him there, he tried to think 
of it as he grabbed his hat and umbrella — and 
couldn’t. 

On the back porch he met Jim with an armful 
of wood and a broom, Jim nearly dropped them 
both in his surprise. “ Why — why, Marse Po- 


70 


IN love’s domains. 


fessah, yo’ not done gone a’ ready ’thout seein’ 
Miss Minna Ev’lina an’ the quality folks?” 
“Miss Minna Ev’lina” brought back to our hero, 
remembrance of what he had come for. 

“Ah, certainly not, Jim,” he said, in a shaky, 
trying-to-get-out-of-it sort of a way. “But I 
thought that as — well, understanding, as I may 
say, that you— that I — in fact, that your young 
mistress had comiDany, I thought that perhaps — 
perhaps you had better announce me.” 

He had not intended to say that at all, when he 
began, and Jim looked at him as if he thought 
the study of other men’s brains had softened his 
own, for he kept his eye on him as he carefully 
laid down the wood and the broom, and gingerly 
edged past him into the hall. 

“ Marse Doctah Pofessah Sefton!” he announced, 
with as much pomposity of manner as he was 
wont to use when master of ceremonies. Perhaps 
the tenacity with which the Professor clung to 
his hat, when Jim tried to get it out of his fingers, 
had something to do with it. Everything seemed 
awful quiet as he went in the door, and Jim si- 
dled out. He had heard laughing a second before. 

Then some one came toward him from the 
piano, she looked taller than Minna Evolina had 
looked, but she said: 

“My dear Professor, how charming to meet 
you once more! ” 

Her voice and her eyes were the same, other- 
wise it was not his Minna Evolina — it was Evoli. 
He had not imagined the shortening of a name 


A ROMAUNT, 


71 


would have made such a difference. She intro- 
duced her cousins to Professor Sefton, they were 
both charmed, so they said. The Professor said: 
“ How do you do?” and that's about all he did 
say to them. Cousin Eduard had long mus- 
taches, and a Byronic collar. Cousin Agnace, his 
sister, was about forty — a slim, long-drawn-out 
forty, with the kittenish brightness of sixteen. 
She skipiDed from one window to another, and 
rustled her starchy skirts, and wondered ‘‘if 
they would really allow her to pluck some of the 
pears from the trees her own self, instead of hav - 
ing a servant do it. A^es? how charming; and 
would dear Eduard go with her to the trees? Ah! 
he was such an angel of a brother; and would 
the learned Professor x^ardon them each, that 
they retired into the garden for one little while? 
Yes? and her Evoli must not miss her — not Jong 
would she remain away.” 

And the learned Professor excused her, with 
inaudible thanks, and the angel of a brother x)ut 
a shawl around the giddy young creature’s 
shoulders, and looked languishingly at Evoli, and 
bowed x3rofoundly to the learned Professor, and 
then they took themselves off with more ceremony 
than people were used to in Darlington houses. 
And Minna Evolina and Tommett had the room 
to themselves. 

So far there had been no tears, no nervousness, 
and he felt as if all that idea of her being impres- 
sed too deeply by the change that had been, was a 
mistaken calculation, and noticing the stylish 


72 


IX love’s domains. 


dressing of herself and cousins, he wished she 
knew about the other suit he could have worn if 
he wanted to. 

But he did not tell her. He looked at her as 
lovingly as he could, while he wished she would 
wear her hair lower on her neck, and show the 
shape of her head more. It was very finely 
formed, idealistic organs well developed, form 
and color much above the average, the entire 
formation of the cranium denoting advanced in- 
tellectual possibilities, a good study; he was so 
much interested in its manifestations that he for- 
got to say anjdhing after the other two went out; 
until, after a while, he realized there had been a 
long silence, and that his Evoli was looking a little 
uneasy at the directness of his gaze that was at- 
tracted to her height of forehead. Then he tried 
to say something in a careless, nonchalant man- 
ner, but could not think of anything. He jingled 
nervously some odd joints of finger-bones, that 
had been forgotten in his coat pocket, and at last 
he said: “My dear Minna Evolina,” and she 
said : ‘ ‘ My dear Professor. ’ ’ 

And then he let go of the finger-bones in his 
pocket and reached for her hand, and got it, and 
said tenderly: 

“ How much you have grown.” 

And then they had a nice, long visit with each 
other, as the old ladies say, and he told her of the 
marriages and deaths, and his own acquired hon- 
ors; and she told him of the new types she had 
been making a study of lately, and that she 


A ROMATJIS^T. 


73 


expected to find some good material tlirough lier 
return to America; the impressions of American 
characteristics would be so much clearer to her 
now when they formed such a contrast to the for- 
eign element she had been surrounded by for so 
long. And he told her of his collection of skulls, 
and at that point in the conversation the cousin 
with the mustaches and the cousin with the petti- 
coats came in again, and the timid creature 
declared her terror of the skulls, yet, ‘‘If her 
dear Eduard, her dearest Evoli, and the learned 
Professor were of the party, she would go to see 
them. Yes, she would be charmed, such a curi- 
osity of a study! Yes, she would be disconsolate 
to leave America without having seen this most 
grand collection. ^ ’ 

And it was arranged that they were all to visit 
the Professor’s collection very soon. Cousin 
Eduard expressed himself as profoundly inter- 
ested. “What possibilities in such a study! 
what characters could be evolved from it, what 
types might not one find through such a collec- 
tion!'’ 

And then Cousin Eduard looked at Cousin 
Evoli, and then at the Professor, and she looked 
at the Professor, too, and held out her hand when 
he left and told him to come often to see her — to 
come whenever lie felt like it, and he said he 
would, and wished his hair wasn’t quite so 
thin when he saw Cousin Eduard toss back the 
fiowing locks from his poetic brow. And then he 
went home and dusted the skulls and wondered 


74 


IN love’s domains. 


how it would seem to have a wife to help him in 
his work of love, and that is the account of the 
day when Tommett met for the first time his 
Evoli. 

She did not call him Tommett at all, not even 
when they were alone, which did not happen 
often. She did let him kiss her, but something 
kept him from having the same confidence in the 
venture that had of old been an every-day affair. 
She asked him not to call her Minna Evolina, 
esj^ecially before folks, she preferred him using 
the one that had been her trade mark in litera- 
ture. 

He asked her when she was going to change her 
trade mark for his, and she looked at him with a 
sigh, a happy sigh of course, and said, pensively: 

“ You still remember so fondly the loves of our 
childhood?” 

He said he did, and he said it decidedly. ‘‘The 
loves of our childhood” was the term she had 
apx3lied several times to that sweet fever of fond- 
ness that only time cures, and the repetition of 
it was aggravating to him. He could not always 
think of it himself in the x)resent tense, not with 
the same degree of absorption that it had been. 
But it was not comforting to know that the 
natural course of events made her look at it 
in the same light, first for types, afterward for 
Tommett. 

And when he said the love of his childhood 
still bound him, and asked again as to the wed- 
ding day, she answered sweetly and passively: 


A ROMAUXT. 


75 


“ Whenever you say, dear.” And he said next 
week. 

That was the time when she told him he had no 
consideration — that he was proposing an impossi- 
bility. And then Cousin Eduard lounged in and 
told Cousin Evoli he was ready to drive her for 
the ferns she wanted, and would Professor Sefton 
honor them by his accompaniment? 

Professor would not; he was not a wrathy man, 
but that confounded Eduard with his long, sleepy 
eyes was a cause of irritation to him that day. 
Leutz holds that the Jews have more gall than 
other men, and through it there is x^i’eserved that 
individuality of feature that makes them a marked 
race. Leutz was one of the standards for whom 
the Professor had an admiration — seldom contest- 
ing his theories, but going home that day he 
debated whether Leutz would not have made an 
exception in favor of Cousin Eduard had he been 
so unfortunate as to have known him. From 
localizing symiDtoms that made themselves mani- 
fest from day to day, he decided that that ideal- 
istic lounger had an amount of gall equal to 
preserving intact more unadulterated individual 
impudence than he could think x)ossible in one 
specimen of the genus homo. 

Evoli’s willingness that the marriage should be 
before a great while, took a doubt from his mind 
that had perplexed him sometimes. She had not 
appeared to enjoy his collection as he had hoiDed 
Minna Evolina would have done — that of course 
was a cause for regret. She remarked one day 


76 


IN love’s POMAINS. 


that 01 course he would have a room at the col- 
lege for them when married — it would seem so 
like a charnel house to have them in one’s private 
abode. That set him to thinking seriously. It 
made him remember the words of Lavater, who 
said: “If thou hast an almost spherical head 
contract no alliance with along, high forehead.” 
Evoli had a high forehead — a long head. He had 
an almost spherical head. It never had occurred 
to him before to compare them. But it lecurred 
to him several times in the next few weeks. 

And when she spoke in that way of his collec- 
tion he felt like asking if she intended to have a 
separate house for her types and her dictionaries. 
But he didn’t; he reflected that such a remark 
might jar on the sweetness of their affection — that 
had been. 

He was much more careful of his apx)earance 
than of old —the business suit that had been his 
was put away, and he looked as smart in broad- 
cloth and silk hat as that limber-looking Italian 
did in his long hair and wide collar — though, X 3 er- 
haps, not so picturesque. He did not care for 
that, he preferred to look majestic and dignifled— 
which he did. One would have known he was an 
M. D. or an LL. I), to look at him. He looked 
like a man of importance — so his mother told 
him. 

Evoli did not speak of his appearance as Minna 
Evolina had done. She never compared him to the 
oak any more. Perhaps she forgot it. And he 
wondered sometimes how he ever had got the idea 


A ROMAUXT. 


77 


that she was a vine and made to cling. She had 
evidently dropped the habit of clinging while 
in Europe, for he saw no manifestations of it. 

The marriage was settled on for six months 
ahead. Her Italian cousins were disconsolate at 
having to leave before the event — the Professor 
was not. He was in hopes that when they were 
gone, he might hear a few conversations that were 
not confined to ‘‘ types.” 

He was hurrying to complete a work on his 
beloved study before the momentous occasion, 
and wished often that Evoli had a more heart-felt 
interest in it, for reasons. 

The series of learned articles he was preparing, 
were to be illustrated, each illustration was to be 
of a distinctly different character of a head. He 
had already some very fine ones made, one of a 
Calmuc Tartar, that suggested a very short mis- 
sing link; another, of an East Indian, whose 
pointed skull was a thing of pride to a craniolo- 
gist; a magnificent specimen of a negro, who 
looked like a black Ajax with his head shaved; 
and a once noted j)olitician, who was so bald he 
did not need to be shaved, had kindly let the Pro- 
fessor use his head as an illustration of theories 
advanced. His head had a decided likeness to 
Socrates. There were many others, j)eople of all 
races, all colors. But the ideal head of the lot 
was one he had spent considerable thought over. 
It was not easy to get. 

Evoli had a head that would do. He had 
noticed the shape of it immediately on her return, 


78 


IN love's domains. 


and had been lost in admiration of it many times 
after. He laid awake several nights thinking 
what a magnificent specimen it would make if 
only that heavy covering of hair was out of the 
way. 

Another statement of Lavater s occurred to him 
in conjunction with that idea. It was that ‘Amnity 
and i^ride is the general character of all women!” 
He suiDposed Lavater was right, in fact, he was 
pretty confident of it. And he believed she set 
considerable store by that hair. He had heard 
Cousin Agnace exclaim over the charming way in 
wliich it would kink up on wet days, and he 
remembered Evoli had looked pleased, and de- 
clared her dear cousin was fiattering her. 

Of course it would be a bit of a sacrifice to part 
with, especially before the wedding. He thought 
of that; but if he, her future husband, the man 
who would have to look at her most, requested it, 
could she refuse? Xot if her affection was what 
she had said it always would be, he decided. He 
remembered how often she had said, ”Put my love 
to any test, dear Tommett, and see if I do not 
stand it, and maintain my maiden vow. Even 
though you drank or chewed tobacco, I would 
none the less look on myself as your wife. Put 
my affection to any test if you doubt.” 

He remembered a few of those passionate 
appeals, made before she went away, and he 
decided that he would comply with her request. 

She was not in the house when he called. Jim 
said she was in the garden, writing. He went to 


A ROMAUI^T. 


79 


the garden. What place so fitting to the meeting 
of lovers? he said to himself, and looked in the 
hall mirror as he passed it, and smoothed the hair 
forward a little from the back of his head, and 
then he sauntered out to find her. 

He could not see her, but in one of the arbors — 
a rose arbor — he found her writing materials. 
There was her portfolio and the ink, and on the 
bench beside them, were some loose sheets of her 
MSS. He knew that wherever she w^as, she 
would come back there for them. So he sat 
down, and for pastime picked up some of the 
sheets to see what she was doing — he was confi- 
dent she would not object, they had read too 
many together for that. 

The first of the story was not there, but his sur- 
prise and delight were great when he found by 
those fragments that the subject of it was in part 
Phrenology, or Craniology, he could not quite 
make out which, but there was enough to show 
that the dear girl had entered more deeply into a 
sympathy with his beloved work than he had ever 
guessed. She had evidently meant it as a sweet 
surprise to him. He felt as he made the discovery 
that she was once more his Minna Evelina. He 
could not make out much of the plot because of 
parts missing, but there was a craniologist in the 
story; an old man, he imagined. It did not say 
so, but from the little bits of description and his 
way of speaking it could not be a young one. 
And the old man fancied himself in love with a 
girl, but he really was only in love with the 


80 


IN love’s domains. 


skulls. That seemed to be tlie idea of it as far 
as lie could gather, and he thought it must be an 
original one. But whatever the merits of the 
story may have been, it pleased him just then, 
for it showed an interest in his study that he had 
not suspected, and if his appreciation of it was 
so great, all the more probability that she would 
enter with enthusiasm into the iiroposition he had 
come to make, and he was in quite a state of 
elation when he heard her voice. She was talk- 
ing to some one in the garden, but she was coming 
closer, so he waited. 

“ I can not use it,” she said, as if she was wor- 
ried, ‘ ‘ and I am so sorry, it is the cleverest char- 
acter story I have written.” 

“Can not you change it one little bit, enough 
not to be known?” And the Professor, who had 
risen to go to her, stopped, for it was Cousin 
Eduard’s voice. “No, I can not,” and the tone 
was more despondent than before, “ if I change 
it I lose the character. It would no longer be a 
distinct type.” 

The Professor sat down again when he heard 
that word, he was tired of it. 

“ So unfortunate!” said the slick, smooth voice 
again, “ah, ma belle -cousin, why were you not 
more wise?” 

“How was I to know?” and she seemed more 
vexed. “I did not know very much, anyway, 
I was a silly little creature. It is my own char- 
acter that is changed, not — not any other person’ s. 
I tell you the truth, I used to think that person 


A EOMAUNT. 


81 


very admirable, because of the learning, I sup- 
pose, that was so far beyond my own — then, and 
it made me do and say all sorts of foolish things 
that I do not like to remember. But it will all 
come right no doubt when I get myself to think- 
ing in the same way again, and I will in time, of 
course.” 

“How lamentable that you are made to see but 
a type, instead of what you once did see,” said 
the smooth voice again. “ It is a great pity when 
we have to quarrel with a too clear vision.” 

‘ ‘ I would rather not talk about it any more, 
Eduard,” said Evoli, “it does not seem right, 
only you saw the story and the — the sketches I 
made, and you know what it all meant. I really 
could not help writing it, the idea was so humor- 
ous it was a pleasure to write it up.” 

“My poor cousin! if you are not given that 
sympathy and understanding which your soul 
requires I tremble for you! You are so sensitive 
to im]3ressions.” 

“ Say no more, Eduard,” and Evoli spoke as 
if she was studying for tragedy; “do not grieve 
for me in Italy, I will live, I must, that my work 
may live.” 

“ And the story?” 

“We must burn it. ’ ’ 

“My brave cousin! you speak the words with 
courage — but I see you look j)ale. Yes, at once 
you should burn it, and bury with it the memory 
— wait! I think I have a match in the pocket of 

this, my waistcoat.” 

6 


82 


m love’s domains. 


“There are some sheets of it on my desk, will 
you bring them?’ ’ 

“Here to the garden?” 

“Yes — yes, the idea of the story came to me in 
the garden, let me bury it among the flowers. 
The rest of it is in the rose arbor, come to me 
there.” 

The Professor was rather muddled at all the pre- 
amble that he did not understand. He felt antag- 
onistic when he thought of that fellow’s sympathy 
that was evidently uncalled for — he could not 
discover any reason for sympathy. He even felt 
like stepping out and asking vrhat he meant by 
it, and telling liim he was a meddling jackanapes. 
And then he remembered that Cousin Eduard, 
though lazy, was muscular, there might be a 
scene, Evoli might be frightened, and he sat 
still. 

Evoli came into the arbor looking pensive, she 
said the sui^rise of seeing him there was most 
agreeable. And then she looked through the 
rose leaves to see if people on the other side 
would be visible to the naked eye. And she' 
must have concluded not, for she said again that 
it was most agreeable. She sat down on the 
bench with the portfolio between them, and he 
lifted it and slid up closer. 

He intended asking what she and her cousin 
were talking about, but when he saw her he for- 
got all about it. He could see and think of 
nothing but the well-shaped cranium, and the 
development of ideality needed for that illustra- 


A ROMAUXT. 


83 


tion. And lie said lovingly, “You remember 
dear Min — my dear Evoli, bow often we made 
promises tliat should our devotion be put to the 
test we should not fail — do you remember?” 

“Yes,” Evoli thought she did. 

The reply was not very encouraging since she 
only “thought” it. The Professor sighed a sigh 
for the past adoration that had no suppositions, 
it had known all that was, all that would be, 
through all eternity of love. 

But this was not a moment for retrospection — 
it was business, that bead meant a good many 
dollars to him through the interest it would 
awaken in the eyes of the public when they knew 
that a beautiful woman had sacrificed her beauty 
for awhile for the furtherance of this grand edu- 
cational achievement, so he went on — 

“ The time has come, dear Evoli, when I must 
put your love to a test; when I have to ask of you 
what may at first seem like a sacrifice, but when 
looked at from a philanthropic point of view — 
that of benefit to many — will, I am sure, be one to 
awaken your warmest approval.” 

She pulled two or three rings off her fingers 
absent-mindedly and tried them on her thumbs, 
and finding they would not fit, she slid them back 
where they belonged, and said, languidly; 

‘ ‘ What is it? ’ ’ 

“Would you, dearest, to prove the devotion 
you have so often avowed, to glorify the name 
you are one day to share — ’ ’ 

She looked at him when he got that far; it was 


84 


IN love’s domaixs. 


a look of curiosity, but not of pleased, reassuring 
curiosityo He felt himself weaken a little under 
it, and then made an earnest attempt to put the 
request in the words that would impress her most 
favorably; but the words were slow coming, and 
she said, rather impatiently: 

Well, Professor, what in the world is it? ” 
There was another spasmodic effort to find some 
glossing, glowing phrase in which to express his 
plea, and succeeded in saying, pathetically: 

“ Would you — would you shave your head? ” ' 
She started as if to run, but he caught her and 
held her while he tried to explain. She must have 
really been very timid and more nervous than he 
had thought i)ossible, for she imagined him insane. 
And it was not until he had taken from his iDocket 
the pictures of the Calmuc Tartar and the Ethio- 
pian that she could be made to understand what 
he meant by the request. And even then he was 
not sure that the proof had won him any favor. 

‘ ‘ And you really anticipated doing me the honor 
of placing my head with such a collection? ’ ’ 

‘‘ Such a collection,” spoken in that tone, is not 
complimentary to the author of said collection. 
The Professor felt the sting. He wanted to tell 
her she should be jDroud of being selected as a 
specimen, but he didn’t. He told her firmly, with 
the old manner she had admired once, that an 
attempt to educate the masses was a subject for 
commendation, not sarcasm. 

He thought that oak-like dignity might im- 
press her, but it didn’t. She said she “did not 


A EOMAUNT. 


85 


fancy that the masses would ever hear of the 
attempt. ’ ’ 

That was unkind, but he bore it, and heaped 
coals of lire on her head by saying: 

‘‘Evoli, my soon-to-be wife! if it was to please 
you, I would gladly shave every hair off my head 
without question. ” 

And all she said was — 

“ You would not need to.” 

The sentence was brief, but full of meaning. He 
had his hat in his hand. He put it on when she 
said that. 

And just then Cousin Eduard’s voice sounded 
on the other side of the arbor: 

Are you there, my Cousin Evoli?” he asked. 
‘ ^ Here are the leaves, also some drawings of them 
that I found there. Agnace calls me; she must 
not see them, neither your betrothed; they tell me 
he is in the house. I thrust the papers through 
the hedge, also a match. I return to you quickly. 
Adieu.” 

Evoli grabbed for the papers so quickly it 
aroused the Professor’ s interest in them. He 
grabbed for them, too. There was no word spoken, 
but failing in getting the papers, she reached for 
the portfolio; so did he. Between them one of 
the bits of paper fell to the ground. He recovered 
it. It was a pencil drawing. Did I tell you 
she could draw? She could. The sketch was 
hers. 

‘ ‘ How dare you look at my work when I give 
you no permission?” she asked, trying to reach 


86 


m love’s domains. 


for it, but lie was Just tall enough to keep it 
beyond her. 

‘‘ A man can be pardoned, surely, for wanting to 
look at his own picture,” he said. 

When he made that remark her visage became 
inflamed by the superabundance of blood carried 
up to it — that is, she blushed. But the blush was 
not of the kind that is caused by the emotion of 
love, such as had once colored Minna Evelina's 
cheek. Far from it. This congestion — medi- 
cally speaking — was a secondary result of spas- 
modic contraction of the respiratory muscles of 
the larynx, accompanying clinching of the teeth, 
leading to inciiiient asphyxia. She did not 
speak, however, she just sat down. 

The drawing was a caricature, but there was in 
it enough of a likeness to recognize himself. He 
was leaning with his elbows on a table, and in his 
hands he held a skull over which he was gloating 
like a lover on newly discovered charms. A lady 
sat opposite with a breakfast cap on her head. 
She offered him a cup of coffee with a love-lorn 
look in her eyes; he did not see her, he was 
oblivious to all but the hollow-eyed specimen in 
his hands. Yes, there was his bald head and his 
thin neck, the latter craned forward to make it 
look thinner than ever. 

‘‘Very good,” he said, in commendation, ‘‘a 
good illustration of the scene described. Oh, yes, 
I read it while waiting for you to get through 
talking to Cousin Eduard. I know about the 
whole story now, the misunderstood souls and the 


A EOMAUNT. 


87 


fallen ideals, and the whole business. I am glad 
you have found some recompense in a type; my 
gladness is only exceeded by my affection.” 

He had begun coolly and calmly, determined to 
preserve his dignity. He would let her see he 
had some live brains, though he did study dead 
ones. But the unlucky reference to Cousin 
Eduard brought him wrath y memories. He 
wanted to fight some one — the man, first of all, 
who had seen that caricature, and his voice rose 
several tones. He felt that it sounded even 
shrill — an echo of his mother’s when she was 
angry. 

“ Affection!” she retorted, in answer to his last 
statement, ‘ ‘ how can you speak of affection when 
you don’t know what it means? IToul why you 
would shave my head, and no doubt boil me 
alive if you wanted my skeleton, but you can’ t 
have it!” 

“And I don’t want it!” he said, energetically. 
“ I don’t want even the skeleton of a woman who 
has so little feeling as to caricature what should 
be her dearest emotions, and sell them at so much 
a page. Such a woman can never be wife or 
mother to Prof. Thomas H. Sefton's children.” 

And he straightened himself up and looked at 
her with a calm, decided gaze, that told her he was 
not to be persuaded, even if she wanted to. 

He did not learn if she wanted to, he does not 
know yet. She picked up her garden hat and 
said, she had never proposed to be wife or 
mother to his children, and asked him how many 


88 


IN love’s domains. 


he had, and then walked away before he could 
answer. 

And that was the end of an absorbing affection 
that defied change ; a love that was just as intense as 
any other love — even one in a story. The Professor 
in it was a class-mate of the Professor who writes 
this, they were very much together, hence the 
knowledge of this romance. 

To satisfy the minds of the readers who always 
want to know the history of people into the next 
generation, I will state that Evoli turned her 
back on Darlington and went back to Italy. She 
and Cousin Eduard soon after that decided to 
put in their lives studying types together. They 
have found a half dozen or so on whom they 
would have to pay taxes if all one’s live stock 
came under taxation. They no doubt welcome 
them as heirs to their trade marks and glory. I 
su^Dpose they call them all Eduard and Evoli, as 
no other names would be romantic enough for 
those ethereal souls. I doubt if you could find a 
Tommett among them. 

The Professor awakened from the love of his 
childhood just in time to realize the discontent it 
might have led him to; he never ventured so 
near a yoke again. He still lives in tranquil 
enjoyment of his collection that has gained a 
reputation satisfying all his hopes. 

Now you will see this is not a case of forced 
separation of fond hearts, there was no adverse 
influence as the cause of that love that just got 
sick and died a natural death, unmourned. In 


A ROMAUNT. 


89 


the beginning it had been an illusion — the sort of 
illusions that won’t wear. I have not found any 
of them yet that did. It was simply the natural 
result of lives and people that grow older and 
away from the things they liked to play with as 
children; we are x>rogressive, we want new toys, 
new dolls. Some people hug their old ones 
through life and pretend they don’t see the noses 
that get battered, and the paint that is chipped 
off the cheeks. Those two might have done the 
same thing if it had not been for the accident of 
the types and the skulls; no doubt they both 
congratulated themselves on the accident, the 
writer knows one of them did. 

This story, as I said before, is told with an 
object It may or may not convince my col- 
leagues, but it was the only one I knew, and I 
had to tell it or say nothing. 

I state again that this is the only romance in 
the brain of the author. I do so that there may 
be no requests for more from a greedy public. I 
do not intend to pose as a romance writer, and 
have not time to answer letters from people I 
don’ t know. I have no autographs to spare, and 
don’t know any verses for albums. 


GALEED. 

THE bohemian’s STORY. 


CHAPTER I. 

“ This heap is a witness between me and thee this day. There- 
fore was the name of it called Galeed. 

“AndMizpah; for he said, The Lord watch between me and 
thee when we are absent one from another.” 

‘‘And will yon not come witli ns, Hale — 
really? ’ ’ 

“Not if yon will excuse me. I stopped only 
to tell yon I felt like trying to catch np with some 
lagging correspondence to-night.” 

“Bnt think! the last week of the season, and 
if yon really go mooning ont into the country 
as yon intend, yon will be buried ont of sight of 
the drama for weeks to come. ” 

“ I should not mind much if yon wonld share 
my exile,” and the man’s hand lay a moment on 
the warm whiteness of the girl’s arm. A pretty 
arm and a pretty girl with her large, brown eyes 
glancing at him witchingly, gnd the green, foamy 
stnff of her evening dress enhancing the warmth 
of her blonde hair, and the red lips turned toward 
him in a pert way that was a half challenge. 

( 90 ) 


GALEED. 


91 


“Would you not? liow singular.” But the 
mirror opposite the steps where they stood told 
the clear eyes that it was not at all singular. 

‘ ‘ Why wait any longer, Blanche? ’ ’ he asked, 
persuasively; “my probation is lasting until I 
begin to feel old.” 

“Well, you see. Dale, our plans, our trip to 
the other side, would be broken uj), and — oh, well, 
so many things.” ' 

“Yes, I know — so many things,” he repeated. 

The brown eyes glanced at him curiously — was 
there any significance in his tone, or was it only 
her imagination? 

“And I know that in reality you are longing 
to get away to your scribbling,” she hastened to 
say half-teasingly, “and all by yourself too, 
tliough your gallantj*y will not allow you to say 
so. You should thank me for taking myself 
off your hands for so much longer.” 

‘ ‘ Should I? ” he asked rather moodily; ‘ ‘ well, I 
do not think I am, and — wait a moment Blanche — 
did you say ‘ yes ’ that night because you cared for 
me, or only because that light in the conservatory 
was so romantically dim? rather the orthodox 
surroundings for proposal and acceptance. I 
remember you had on a lovely new dress, and 
were so well satisfied with yourself, and, there- 
fore, with me. W as it all the fault of the sug- 
gestive surroundings, or — ” 

“IN'onsense! ” laughed the girl, “what an 
imagination you have; a rather ironical one, 
to-night.” 


92 


IN love’s domains. 


Just then a voice from below called “ Blanche 
Athol, how long are you going to keep us 
waiting? ’ ’ 

There is Nellie calling — can’t you come? Oh, 
those stupid letters; are you sure one of them is 
not to that mysterious individual, Mrs. Holmes? 
No? Well I am not jealous of the rest, so I will 
leave you.” 

‘ ‘ If I thought you cared enough to have any 
jealousy in the matter, I would feel reassured in 
many ways,” he said quite earnestly, detaining 
her an instant with his hand touching the petite 
waist. 

‘‘Then be assured,” she answered, with a co- 
quettish turn of her head, “I am ferociously 
jealous. I am in the last stages of infatuation, and 
to prove it — is any one looking? there! ” 

“Blanche!” called the voice again, “Please 
remember there are reflecting mirrors on that 
landing, and I have an excellent view of Dale 
and yourself from here. If you will only stand 
still a few moments I will call Mr. Haverly^ to 
help me enjoy it.” 

The two on the landing drew apart quickly. 

“Is Dick Haveiiy going with you to the 
theatre? ’ ’ he asked, rather sharply. 

“Why, yes, he was to come for Nellie, you 
know.” 

“Was he? No, I did not know. But of late 
I’ ve been drifting into the conviction that there 
are several things in the world I do not know.” 

“Really? how clever! But if nothing else, you 


GALEED. 


93 


must know that we will miss the first act of the 
comedy if I keej) them waiting any longer. Good- 
night, and happy dreams of — Mrs. Holmes.” 

And laughing in a tinkling, silvery way, with 
mocking face turned upward toward him, the 
girl ran down the steps, he watching her in the 
mirror until she vanished. 

“The first act of the comedy,” he muttered, 
sauntering down the hotel corridor to his own 
room. “ I wonder if it is not rather the begin- 
ning of a farce for both of us — the time of action 
required for it merely — an existence.” 


CHAPTER II. 

“ Fool! ” said my nurse to me. 

“ Look into your heart and write.” 

Hotel Arlington, New York City. 

My Dear George: I suppose you think me a 
neglectful sort of fellow, that I have not written 
you for so long. But be a little lenient and I will 
try to make amends. I shall go to you for a few 
weeks, if possible, this spring. I am anxious to 
take my “outing” away from the social swim, 
and what spot was ever quite so restful as your 
parsonage. But it will be for only a short time. 
I have work planned for the summer that will 
take me to other localities. 

I would go to you to-night if I could — away 
from the gas, and the glitter, and the tinkle of 


94 


IN love’s domains. 


things hollow — how we wohld talk away into the 
“ we sma’ hours! ” I think a good talk with you 
to-night would take from me a little of the tired- 
ness that comes to us all at times. I have just 
got through with a piece of work I have been at 
for three months, and it has left me with a half 
feeling of elation, and a half sorrow at part- 
ing with its companionship. It has seemed for 
so long only my own, now it belongs to the 
public. 

I say only my own, but I think, yes I am quite 
sure, it has seemed to belong partly to one other. 
I wonder if you, from your safe-guard of an 
ideal love that left earth too early for its human 
consummation, can understand a mortal like my- 
self who never seems sure of an anchor? Yes, 
though it is unlike yourself, yet I think you will 
understand. You have understood me all my 
life — more than any other. 

Do you remember the plans we used to make as 
to our lives when I would find a soul that was to 
me what my sister was to you? I think over those 
past hopes very, very often of late, and I wonder 
if that perfect love of yours and hers was excep- 
tional in lives. I see nothing, have known noth- 
ing like it, and yet I have wanted, needed just 
such companionship often. If it could be given 
me, if only for a season, I believe I could be lifted 
above much in my own nature that is gross. 

This looks like a confession of something more 
than usually evil in me; no, I do not intend it so. 
But to you I have ever gone, since as a dreamy, 


GALEED. 


95 


untrained boy, I submitted to you my first lurid 
attempts at drama, my first efforts at verse or 
fiction; then I did not know enough to disguise 
from you my inner nature, and its complex 
wants, and now the knowledge that you under- 
stand and sym]3athize, brings me to you just the 
same. It may be my likeness to Julia has gained 
for me an affection from you that is closer than 
that of most men. But if a love for a woman and 
from a woman, such as I used to dream of, should 
ever have been mine, I think I would have gone 
to her as I do to you with these letters. 

I suppose you are disapproving of this, that 
you say, “ why do you not go to your fianceef' 
And you are right, only earnest as my desire in 
that direction is for helpful companionship, I 
find only one side of my nature appealed to there, 
only one side of my nature cared for or under- 
stood. Do you think I am looking at it only 
from a selfish point of view? I am not altogether 
so bad as that. But I have slowly come to the 
conclusion that she needs me not at all. In fact, 
we could drift along contentedly together, but 
that we are necessary to each other — no. 

Why then these relations? Well, for want of a 
pilot, souls drift into strange harbors. And 
when you questioned Alex Dorman of her, I 
think his words would help the explanation some- 
what when he said, ‘ ‘ well, Blanche is not so intel- 
lectual or strictly beautiful if you come to analyze 
her attractions, but she charms people. ’ ’ She is 
delightful in many ways, and I am irritated when 


96 


IN love’s domains. 


I leave her feeling a want unfulfilled, mentally or 
soulfully. Do I exj)ect too much? I fear so. 
Your love, my cousin, has given me a glimiDse of 
an ideal, and I feel myself and my own afiections 
so far below it. 

Should I try to explain this to Blanche, I can 
fancy her amusement as she would ask me how 
my money was lost, at cards or a horse-race. 
Well, I have been lord of myself in this affair, 
and have come to the conclusion I have a fool for 
my master. 

I wrote in my last about the acquaintance I 
have made, by letter, of the artist who has illus- 
trated my book just finished. I wish you were 
with me to-night, I think I could read you some 
of those letters received from her of late. Per- 
haps they would help show you the reason for 
this want of higher life, higher companionship. 
The letters began simply on business matters 
concerning the illustrations, and I am not sure I 
can tell you with pen and unresi^onsive paper just 
how I am affected by this sympathy with which 
she has entered into the spirit of my work — it has 
been a revelation to me — a puzzling pleasure. I 
seem in her thoughts to read a double of myself, 
but of myself purified, without the alloy that at 
times has seemed to weight me down. I find 
myself wondering much as to her personality, 
though I do not believe I ever want to see or 
know her save through those letters with their 
exquisite touches of feeling, and their width of 
vision that suggest the spectacles of sorrow. I 


GALEED. 


97 


have an idea that she is not young. I do not 
know why I feel so, but her style of thought is 
not in my mind co-existent with the youth of 
woman. It is to me like the youth of a man 
before the world’s evil has claimed him. 

She is married, I know that by her title, but it 
is all I know of her life. Our letters have been 
of art, of books of my own work of which she 
told me faults, fearlessly. She tells me I have 
written too much for the pastime of others when 
I have material in me that should enable me to 
write for their good. Her letters have in them 
always those suggestions that bring back to me 
a youth in which I dreamed all wild visions of 
use and philanthroi^y, tinged with enough poetry 
to make them beautiful. Those untainted dreams 
of youth ! they have drifted to me in a flood, of 
late days, when the letters of this woman came to 
me. She does not seem to see me as a woman, 
only a thing of mind and intuitive sympathies, 
and it is so that her influence is best. 

I feel a half shame in writing that last — in 
writing you of any woman’s influence over me. 
For you have known of other influences; some 
that spurred me to ambitions, too. But the ambi- 
tions that were as feverish as the effects of the 
jate suppers, where my divinities for the time per- 
ished. 

Well, old friend, I think you know I have 
tried to break loose from all that; tried to steer 
myself into the correct order of life since I am to 
be a benedict. Since I felt that another’s future 

7 


98 


IX love’s domains. 


was to depend on mine, I turned my back on the 
old bohemian style of life; I tried to put myself 
through a mental and moral purification. It was 
all done for the sake of another — not, I fear, for 
the sake of goodness. And gradually I have 
learned that my attempts in that line are not 
sympathized with as I had hoped they would be. 
They are treated in a half- jesting manner that has 
a mischievous disbelief in me emerging from any 
chrysalis of the past. I was just awaking to that 
revulsion of feeling, and I confess was smarting 
under a sense of irritation when this artist sent 
me the first of those letters that was in any sense 
personal — letters with the coolness that sooths 
and the warmth that stimulates. Letters that 
breathe of purity and strength as if from a soul 
that has had to struggle to keep them, and thus 
understand the needs of others. 

It may have been just the coming of her faith 
in me, at a time when I was despondent over my 
reformatory attempts, that made such an impres- 
sion on me — that lifted me, mentally, from the 
slough into which I had half stumbled. 

W ell, her present work, artistically, is done for 
me — or rather for the publisher, who really 
engaged her. Her last letter hints at multi- 
plicity of work and ]possible change of address, 
that seems to put a veto on further correspond- 
ence. I am not sure that I am sorry, delightful 
as the exchange of thought has been. But I 
would not always be content to know her only by 
letter, and my ideal of her I would not risk having 


GALEED. 


99 


shattered by a meeting, as I fear it would be. But, 
just as it is, I know it has helped me, and I am 
going to work, old fellow, with a vim born, I 
think, from one unknown woman’s belief in me. 
Do not think me careless, my brother-cousin, of 
the faith you have always had in me. But you 
know me personally, and, through your liking, 
would give me belief. But this other — I think it 
is simply because there is no personal feeling in 
the matter — the knowledge that it is simply 
my work she cares for, that gives me the desire to 
make that work high and strong as her own ideas 
of excellence — ideas she has helped to make 
mine. 

Her own work is strong and full of feeling. I 
send with this some proofs of work done for me; 
you are judge enough to know they are clever. 

Am going to try dramatic work, soon as I have 
a little time My play last season was only a 
semi-success, but I will not be satisfied until I 
have produced at least one play that will run. 
This summer I intend doing some work o‘n an 
Indian theme of the past century, a half historical 
affair. 

Blanche intends going to Europe this summer 
with her sister and brother-in-law, Mr. and Mrs. 
Julian, so I will be left in bachelor freedom for 
many months longer. I have asked that the mar- 
riage be consummated now, at once. A contra- 
diction you will say of many things in this letter; 
yes, but we are, after all, fond of each other, I 
think. We seem apart, but I fear that absence 


100 


IN love’s domains. 


will only drift us further in that direction. How- 
ever, my suggestion on the question has been 
vetoed, so I settle down to work during her 
absence. 

Write — write to me often from the seclusion of 
your village life. I write you to-night much as I 
would write in a journal that was for only my 
own reading — just as I used to write you. For the 
past few years I have drifted away from you a 
little, my life for awhile was not in keeping with 
your hopes of me; I know that it helped to cut 
off in part that old sweet intercourse that was 
ours when my sister and her influence was with 
us. 

Well, my cousin, I feel that I am led back to 
the old walks and to you, and the soul that does 
it is, I think, akin to the soul of Julia, this 
woman whose name tells one nothing, Judith 
Holmes. Your prayers are of more avail than 
mine, remember her in them for my sake, will you 
not? That seems a strange request, but I ask it 
in all earnestness. There has been no hint of 
sorrow, or want of sympathy, in her letters, but 
I am filled with the thought that she knows 
unhappiness — that from some depth of iDain, she 
has learned to read between the lines of other 
people’s discontent. I am not sure whether I 
think of her as an ideal mother, or sister, or 
sweetheart; all seem blended in the soul I have 
gained a glimpse of. 

Never mind if I run into extravagance of 
expression; that will tone down when I settle to 


GALEED. 


101 


work and get a little used to this breath of youth- 
ful energy that has come back to me. Try and 
be a little glad with me. 

Your cousin, 

Dale. 


The Parsonage, Gtlenvale, Mass. 

My Dear Dale: Of course I am glad, and 
am thankful as you are to the woman who has 
helped me to be so. I am interested in her and 
her work; the latter is undeniably good. I have 
regretted that wandering of yours more than I 
would have expressed if you had not yourself 
brought up the subject, still you are not yet 
thirty. The feverish fascinations of worldly life 
and worldly loves seldom lose their hold on a 
man of your temperament so early, not unless he 
has the great help that is the lever of the world 
— Love — the love that exalts, that helps us to an 
understanding of what is best in our own hearts. 
You, in the early part of your career, sought such 
companionship of thought, though the search 
wandered into strange paths that offered alluring 
substitutes. 

Your marriage will, I think, do more toward 
contenting you than you imagine now. You need 
an anchor, and a wife is a most excellent one. I 
believe it is the idea of your prospective union 
that has led you unconsciously into the train of 
thought that is with you now. The sympathy of 
this unknown nature has helped you to give 


102 


IN love’s domains. 


expression to it. But the germs were planted 
when you asked for the life companionship of the 
woman you are to marry. 

I think this other lady — Mrs. Holmes — is an 
earnest, helpful nature, who, seeing the flaws in 
work that was otherwise good, had the courage to 
tell you so, setting aside the conventional for the 
sake of the useful. Men need that the world 
hold such women, and though you should not 
hear from her again, I shall endeavor to keep in 
your mind her interest in you. 

Come to me here as soon as you choose, there 
is always a welcome for you. Come, I long to 
talk to you again as a boy. A boy who has seen, 
as in a vision, the folly and the soul sickness of 
illicit sweets — who knows them all, and yet turns 
so thankfully to the wholesome purities of home, 
the haven that abolishes either false stimulants 
or narcotics. 

Yours, my boy, earnestly, 

George. 


CHAPTER III. 

Some strange shame put weight upon my tongue, I only 
watched her . — FooVs Revenge. 

A clatter and chatter sounded through the halls 
and along the verandahs of a hotel in Oyster Bay, 
Long Island, a summer hotel that closes its doors 
when the leaves fall, and only oiDens them again 
when the peach blossoms make the trees pink. 


GALEED. 


103 


The young people in gay guise of lawn tennis 
and boating dress came trooping in under the 
trees at the lunch hour, and through them the 
man called Dale made his way to the hotel regis- 
ter, a half dozen girls fluttering away from the 
desk to give him room, and fluttering back again 
to glance at the signature when they thought hi m 
out of hearing. 

‘‘ Dale Alison,” chirruped one. 

“ Brooklyn,” added another. 

‘‘ Wonder what he is?” 

“He looks like something.” 

“Something, that’s definite, Grace.” 

“ Oh, you know — something unusual.” 

“Yes, unusually tall.” 

“ Or unusually handsome, perhaps?” This, sar- 
castically, from one of the girls who preferred 
blonde specimens of masculinity. 

“No; you all understand what I mean. He 
looks like an actor, or a minister, or — well, some- 
thing uncommon. No, he is not quite handsome, 
but he is striking, and his eyes are lovely! they 
seem to have so much in them.” 

“ It’s a hopeless case,” said one, x>athetically. 

“Yes, love at first sight,” ventured another. 

“ The seventh case in the two weeks since we’ve 
been here,” said the girl called Grace, “forty- 
eight hours of unutterable love given to each.” 

‘ ‘ Proof of her devotion to Ouida. She is 
hunting for germs of jiassionate poetry in every 
man she sees, if he happens to look melancholy; 
this one looks bilious.” 


104 


love’s domains. 


Yes, a regular black and tan.” 

“ He is not!” 

“ He is so!” 

“ He lias a face an artist would use for Fra 
Lippo.” 

“Oh! oh! oh! Girls if any of you have histori- 
cal knowledge of the gentleman mentioned, you 
can guage the bent of our friend’s mind. I’m 
shocked!” 

‘ ‘ So am I. ” 

“We are all paralyzed with horror.” 

And immediately six girls dropped into gro- 
tesque positions, supposed to be paralytic, and 
bearing a slight resemblance to the attempts at 
posing made by the dragoons in “ Patience.” 

“You all look extremely idiotic.” 

“Oh! she’s getting personal.” 

“And vixenish!” 

“Cause — unrequited love. But there he goes 
again.” 

“Which way?” 

“Into the lunch room. Say, girls. I’m fin - 
ished.” 

“So am I.” 

“ Let’s get at his table.” 

“ The waiter won’t let us.” 

“Yes, he will,” decided Grace. “I’ll smile on 
him. Come on, all but Laura, she’s tabooed 
because of her susceptible nature. Come along. 
I’m trying to rack my brains to remember where 
I’ve heard his name before. I wish Tom was here, 
or even papa. I’m sure they would know him.” 


GALEED. 


105 


‘‘There, there! that will do, you schemer, tr\’- 
ing to pick up an acquaintance on the strength of 
the idea that possibly Tom knows him. That is 
rather a transparent affair, try another.” 

“Stop jabbering and come to lunch,” advised 
one of the more practical creatures. 

And so the new-comer ate his lunch with what 
solemnity he could, feeling five i3airs of girlish 
eyes exchanging glances as freely as they had 
exchanged remarks concerning him. A gay, 
careless lot they were, let loose from the environ- 
ments of city life to run wild for a season over the 
sands, and dabble in the waves of the sea shore. 
Forward, audacious, with the audacity of youth 
that means no harm. 

A ]3leasant, cheery dining-room, with the 
glimpses of the close green through the windows, 
and a good lunch with the xis-a-ms of a bright, 
piquant face, running over with mischief, is apt 
to make life seem like a thing worth living to a 
man, and this one whom the girl called Fra 
Lippo, seemed to enjoy it. 

But in the midst of the hum and the chatter of 
people passing in and out a woman’ s figure caught 
his eye as it moved slowly toward him down the 
dining-room — a form in white with a scarf over 
her arm. 

“Ah! a Francesca,” he thought, as the slim, 
girlish figure in dead white stood out in the midst 
of the gay stripes and bright gowns. But as she 
came closer the face did not look so girlish as the 
figure. The eyes had in them a tinge of sadness, 


106 


IN love’s domains. 


as if of knowledge, and yet something of the 
wistfulness of a child. 

Was it that wistfulness that drew his eyes to 
hers? he could scarcely tell. But whatever the 
attraction was, his attention seemed to have some 
mesmeric effect on the lady. She glanced toward 
him, casually, and the next instant her eyes 
widened just a little, her lix^s parted as one who 
would say ‘‘You?” 

And before he could assure himself that he was 
really the object of that subtle recognition, her 
eyes drox)ped, she turned deliberately to a side 
table, and a view of a clear-cut ]3i’ofile and eyes 
never turned toward himself was all he could see 
in the mirror opposite him — one in which he did 
not dare look too often, because of at least one 
pair of girlish eyes that had noticed that ex- 
changed glance and was on the alert. 

“She’s X)rettier than ever to-day, isn’t she?” 
whispered one of the girls, and he pricked uj) his 
ears thinking to hear her name. 

“ Oh, she is too white for a live woman,” said 
another; “with that bronze hair she needs 
color.” 

“Well, she isn’t afraid of the tan, anyway,” 
said a third, ‘ ‘ for we met her on the bay alone 
this morning, rowing without gloves, and only a 
Tam-o’-Shanter on her head, and you know how 
little they keej^ the sun off.” 

‘ ‘ And she can row, too. Harry Canord, who 
was with us, watched her through a glass until 
she landed, and he raved over her figure.” 


GALEED. 


107 


‘‘ Ma says it looks masculine for a woman to go 
out like that in a boat alone.” 

‘‘But she is not masculine; her voice is the 
softest contralto.” 

‘ ‘ But she goes everywhere alone. ’ ’ 

“Well, she hasn’t been here long, and doesn’t 
seem to know people; but that should not make 
her unfeminine. I’m in love with her.” 

And mentally Alison jotted down the last 
speaker in his whitest book of memory, for the 
sake of the pure profile of unchangeable Greek 
outline. 

The girls, in their new subject, seemed to have 
thoroughly forgotten the mischief that had sent 
them to the stranger’s table, barring out Laura, 
who had to sit demurely beside an elderly aunt 
and watch her chums devour cold chicken at the 
table, with her interesting siDecimen of melancholy, 
a melancholy that she must have concluded 
originated from hunger, as she was disillusioned 
by seeing him eat like a ploughman, his eyes 
gaining an amused gleam as the girls chattered 
on, never hesitating at personalities, each raven- 
ous from the salt air, and regretting that it was 
not dinner, because of some confections and fruits 
that were a feature of the dessert. 

The woman in white — he had already christened 
her — left the lunch-room early, and he sauntered 
out after as soon as he . could in any decency. 
Why did she look at him like that? She had 
aroused his curiosity, and then vanished. There 
were plenty of white dresses to be seen on i)eople 


108 


IN love’s domains. 


both thin and fat, but no Francesca. And passing 
the open window he noticed that the girl Laura 
had joined her companions, and taken his place 
at the table, where they laughed and gossiped, 
evidently discussing himself and his unsenti- 
mental appetite. 

A little later a servant entered, carrying to their 
table a great dish of fruit and confectionery, over 
which he would answer no questions. “For the 
young ladies,” that was all he knew. And one of 
the party found a card among the candies, there 
was a little shriek of horror, a moment of sus- 
pense, and then, an awe-struck whisper, From 
Fra LippoP'' 

“ Oh, he must have heard; we were so near the 
window.” 

“ How^ mean of him to listen.” 

“ How sweet and forgiving to send the candies.” 

“Just my favorites.” 

“ Say, girls, don’t tell Harry.” 

“Ho you think us silly enough for that? He’s 
a regular darling!” 

“ Who? Harry or the other one?” 

“ Why, Fra Lippo of course.” 

And so the lunch ended, and the new-comer 
sauntered around the village streets, putting in 
the time carelessly, aimlessly, while waiting the 
boat that was to take him next day to the other 
end of the island. 

He went out along the street that crosses the 
little bridge where the wild roses grow, and the 
water falls in a foam below over the stones; out 


GALEED. 


109 


along the road where vines of the wood drape the 
trees and form almost an arbor until at the end of 
the wild hedge, an old mill stands, gray and dusty, 
near the shore, and the bath houses away along 
the sand where the people iloat and splash 
through the days of the summer. 

And he, sitting on the grass by the mill-race, 
watching the old miller throw corn to the ducks 
in the clear, brown water, forgot the Francesca 
who had puzzled him; forgot the chatter of the 
girls who had amused him, and drifted into mem- 
ories of the past, and air castles of the future — so 
close those two are, and so easily conjured up by 
the drowsy hum of an early summer day. But 
into even Eden crept the serpent, and across the 
pastoral air of the fields, and the hills, and the 
fragrance of apple blossoms, the laugh of a woman 
came to him — one that made him stir uneasily as 
he lay there on the grass. It struck him with the 
memory of a thing to which he had once given the 
name of love, and which he knew now was but a 
shell without soul. 

But the shells are shifted so by the tides of life, 
and ever and anon we stumble across them, and 
look at them a little wonderingly to think they still 
exist. But we do not care to take in our hands 
the thing we once kissed into life, we only turn 
our heads away with the regret that murmurs the 
“ has been;” that echoes ever through such shells 
of the past passion of the sea deeps. 

And Alison stirred uneasily that day in the 
grasses when he heard that woman’s laugh. At 


110 


IN love’s domains. 


the latter end of a dinner, when the time has come 
for the fruits and dessert, one wonders, with a 
little feeling of distaste, at an appetite for soup, 
which, in the beginning, we found delightful, but 
which one has outgrown, for the time. 

Something like that thought came to him as he 
lay there, and he pulled his hat over his eyes to 
keep out the sun — sunlight is so searching, and 
men’s souls shrink from the truth of it some- 
times— and the echo of that laugh had sent back 
a reflection that made him a little tired at heart. 

The steps of a party came over the beach and 
the long grass toward him, and one of them, the 
most airy of the lot, stopped suddenly at the edge 
of the road with a little cry of amazement at the 
long limbs and hidden face there on the sward. 
Tliere are, of course, so many long limbs in the 
world; but when one has known any one pair so 
well they are likely to carry a sense of individ- 
uality, no matter what strange garb encases them. 
And a moment’s glimpse seemed to satisfy the 
pert, quick-stepping creature, for she motioned 
the others — two women and three men — to 
silence. 

“Go on to the hotel without me, I know him 
— no,” as they attempted to dissuade her, “I’ll 
tell you the truth, I do know him, long, oh so 
long ago; so it is no new affair, those are all you 
have need to be jealous of, you goose! Go along, 
do!” 

And then she tip -toed over the sward, and lift- 
ing the hat forced him to look up into her eyes — 


GALEED. 


Ill 


eyes as blue as the seas from which the enij^ty 
shells are dashed. 

“ I have found you,” she said, dropping down 
beside him, her hand on his shoulder. ‘‘ Oh don’t 
look vexed, I don’t want you. I know when 
I’m given the go-by, and you did it royally, 
Alison. Yes, you did, and I had a glorious time 
on the morning you left me, and I'm glad to 
shake hands and say how are you. Come, let by- 
gones be by-gones.” 

“Of course,” he said, a little lamely. “How 
well you are looking, Hettie. Are you stopping 
here at the Bay?” 

“If I am, you mean that you will leave, do 
you?” she asked, bluntly. “No, I’ve only come 
over from Shelter Island for a few days. There 
is a party of us; you may know some of the men. 
Come around to the hotel this evening, will 
you?’ ’ 

“I — I think not,” he answered, even while he 
lay there thinking what an alluring picture she 
made in the blue and pink of her boating dress, 
and the face like a flower — a very knowing blos- 
som of a nineteenth century summer; one that 
knew the value of rich loam in the shape of coins 
from the mint. A clever little creature, who had 
been attractive to him once through her very 
frankness that made no pretenses of innocence, 
and so, perforce, left a man well satisfied with 
himself, with no remorse for a spoiled life, or for 
helping her down a single step on life’s ladder. 
She never had seemed to realize that she had been 


112 


IN love’s domains. 


helped down, and any man who has gone through 
the alternate fits of ecstacy and remorse of a pas- 
sion that enjoys and repents, can tell what a rest 
a companionship is over which he need not waste 
regrets except for lost time. 

But sitting there looking at her he thought 
again of the soup that we vote distasteful at the 
end of a dinner. 

‘‘All right,” she said cheerily, at his refusal 
to join her party, “I know you never did care 
much for crowds. Who is with you here^ no 
one! that’ s all wrong. You look lonesome.” 

“Not at all,” he said, rather hastily, “I am 
working these days, writing. N o more time for 
the careless days and nights when — when we 
knew each other.” 

“Yes,” she said, easily, “I hear you are going 
in for the correct thing and matrimony; when am 
I to congratulate you? ” 

“ If you mean my marriage, not for some. time,” 
he said, a little irritated at having to discuss this 
question with this woman; and yet, how much 
he had shared his time with this woman, in a past 
that was not so very far away. 

“I don’t believe I shall at all,” she continued, 
reflectively. “I think it is a mistake — marriage. 
It ties one too tight. Leave it alone, Alison, you 
are too good a fellow to be spoiled.” 

“ Thanks, but as the advice is a little late, sup- 
pose we change the subject; who are you with, 
here?” 

She looked at him slyly from under her long 


GALEED. 


113 


lashes, with vanity uppermost; her thought was: 
“ Is he sorry 1 He did use to be fond of me; is 
he jealous, after all? ” But aloud she said: “ with 
some people from Chicago — a jolly party — and 
the gayest of times. Ho come along.” 

She lounged toward him on the grass, her hand 
on his shoulder, very near to his neck were the 
little, pink, soft fingers. But he lay there 
unmoved, smiling up at her quizzically, but 
shaking his head ever so slightly. “Get thee 
behind me, Satan,” he quoted, even while his hand 
touched those little fingers; was it to clasp them 
closer? it no doubt looked so, but in reality it was 
to lift the hand firmly from its resting-place and 
lay it good-naturedly on her own knee. 

“ It looks better there,” be remarked, “espe- 
cially as this is an out-door scene and audiences 
are likely things.’ ’ 

“Were you always so afraid of audiences? ” she 
half pouted; and then again the fair jpink face 
was dropped low over his own; “Then why not 
come where there is no one about? ’ ’ 

She never was answered, for as he rose on his 
elbow to speak, he saw over the shoulder of the 
pink and blue nymph, a figure that had evidently 
been sitting by the old mill but a short distance 
away. A slim figure in white with a garden hat 
on its head, a sketch-book in its hand and a great 
deal of contemptuous scorn in its eyes, as it stood 
just an instant gazing across at him, and then 
deliberately turned and walked away. 

‘ ‘ What is wrong? ’ ’ asked the girl looking 


114 


m love’s domains. 


at him. “ Did you see a ghost? Who is that 
woman? ” 

“I do not know who she is,” he answered 
half sulkily. 

“ Come now, be honest.” 

‘‘I tell you the truth,” he reiterated, with a 
decision akin to anger. ‘‘I do not even know 
her name. But as I remarked before, this is 
not exactly the place for scenes. I propose we 
move.” 

He rose without waiting for any remark and 
stalked out toward the sandy road, the girl fol- 
lowing him, a little crest-fallen, a little sulky. 
Up along the path toward an orchard the white 
figure was moving steadily, unconscious that a 
few leaves from the portfolio had dropped on the 
grass by the bars, and lay there tremulous in the 
sea breeze. Alison crossed the road and picked 
them up: the first was a pencil sketch of the old 
mill, the second was a half -finished one of Hettie’s 
form as she bent toward him, her hand on his 
shoulder, it might even be thought to be around 
his neck, for his face could not be seen from the 
artist’s point of view, only the long limbs on 
the sward, and an elbow showing past the curve 
of -the girl’s waist. A pair of lovers any one 
would have thought them, as no doubt the artist 
had. But it was only when she saw his face 
that she had risen indignant. 

• ‘ What the deuce does she mean by making a 
fellow feel uncomfortable with such looks and 
such a manner?” he thought, grumpily, “why 


GALEED. 


115 


should she look so surprised? IVe no doubt she 
stumbles over many such scenes at the Bay.” 

Then he turned over the last slip of paper. 
It was not a sketch, but a letter, the heading 
was that of a publishing house, one he knew 
well. 

And the address on it was Judith Holmes. 


CHAPTER lY. 

It is safe to say that the rest of the day was not 
a comfortable one to Dale Alison. All the soft 
beauty of the day was gone; every nook, every 
cranny was filled with some phantom of fancy, all 
laughing idiotically at the horrible incongruity 
of that woman’s hopes of him, of his own half 
promises to her, and then the scene she had wit- 
nessed! For Hettie and her party had no doubt 
made themselves conspicuous features during 
their stay at the Bay, and there could not be 
much doubt of their class. The heat of shame 
tingled through his blood as he remembered sen- 
tences in those letters that had expressed so much 
faith in his ideas, in his work. How vividly they 
stood out in his mind! How they would recur 
again and again as he lay in his room at the 
hotel, staring rather vacantly at the wall-paper, 
on which were grotesque Chinese figures that 
grinned back at him like little demons. 

The look in her eyes was one he did hot care to 


116 


m love’s domains. 


remember; it made him forget how fine the eves 
were. All at once he seemed placed on too low a 
plane for either admiration or criticism of her 
personality. He had thought of her for so long, 
wondering what slie was like; how those kind 
words of her letters would sound if she gave voice 
to them. And now he knew that she thought of 
him with such disgust, with such disappointment 
that those kind letters, those helpful words would 
never come to him again. 

That thought brought him to his feet like a 
shot. All his new ambitions that had been 
thronging close to him of late seemed tinged with 
hopelessness since the inspiration of them had 
slipped out of reach. A Hash of light into some 
inner soul thrilled him with the knowledge that 
his energies had been bent by that woman’ s faith, 
not by his own needs, and that the mental sui)- 
port given him had been stronger than he had 
guessed until it was withdrawn. 

‘‘What will it matter, after all?” he tried to 
reason in half -irritable fashion, as he tramped 
from one window to another, aimlessly looking 
out on moving forms, his eyes searching instinct- 
ively for one face ; “it will all be forgotten this 
time next year — the woman and her infiuence.” 

So he lied to himself, as men will, trying to 
reason himself out of the burning embarrassment, 
the horrible incongruity the day had given birth 
to. But with all the life in him he knew that he 
longed to keep that infiuence and regain that 
regard. 


GALEED. 


117 


The sheets from the portfolio lay on the table 
by his hat. He picked them up, glancing at the 
figure of himself half hidden by Hettie’s airy 
draperies. 

‘‘ Curse the luck!” 

It is quite an orthodox prayer on lips mascu- 
line, I believe, if luck grows contrary on their 
hands, and how natural to shift the responsibili- 
ties of life unto the irresponsible ones of Fate. 
The ill-luck was not that he should have met 
Mrs. Holmes in the rural surroundings of a 
country road and a flour mill, but that his life 
had known companionship of which he was 
ashamed. 

‘‘This sort of thing won’t do,” he reasoned, 
finally; “those things must be returned to her, 
of course.” 

After reaching that conclusion, the question 
was to determine how they should be returned, 
personally or by messenger. The latter would 
entail less embarrassment, but after the exchange 
of thought that had been between them, how 
could their acquaintance be let end so. A protest 
against that surged through his thoughts. “ And 
I owe her so much, so much,” he muttered, feel- 
ing his debt, and that he had paid her by lowering 
her faith in that which she wanted to believe. A 
man of the world? Yes, so he was thought, but 
the next morning he felt more like a novice 
making his first independent call on a lady, as he 
left his room to return the tell-tale bits of paper 
to their owner, whose hand he had longed so 


118 


IN love’s domains. 


often to clasp, and lie wondered now if she would 
say even “How do you do.” 

As for the lady herself, she smiled at the white 
card with the signature she had learned to know 
so well. 

“I will see him,” she said, and when alone 
she again looked curiously at the signature. 

“ I do not think there can be danger in seeing 
him, now,” she debated, cynically, and then she 
leaned back, laughing a little, “Oh, my useless 
sacrifice to duty and ideals!” she breathed, with 
sarcastic fervor, “and, oh, my last remnant of 
faith in the noble animal — man. I ended the cor- 
respondence because it was growing so much too 
interesting. But — yes, I think I can see him now 
without danger to my susceptible heart.” 

And Alison, waiting with an uncertain feeling 
in the little reception room, saw her draw aside 
the curtains, and noticed thkt little upward curve 
of the corners of her mouth— the face not at all 
the scornful one of yesterday. That smile made 
him feel almost as uncomfortable as the disdain. 
It took from him in an instant all the feeling of 
penitence, and he arose feeling much more assured 
of his self-possession. No, he need not be afraid 
of his reception, for she held out her hand. 

“Mr, Alison — at last,” were the smiling, cour- 
teous, and provocative words he heard first from 
her lips. They were so carelessly pleasant, they 
had such an entire disregard of any former meet- 
ing, that the coolness of it took him a little aback. 

“I am most happy that you allow it to be at 


GALEED. 


119 


last,” lie said, holding her hand an instant, “I 
have wanted to know yon personally for so 
long.” 

So long?” she repeated, smilingly, ‘‘ why yon 
have not known of my existence a year.” 

‘‘ Bnt one can live so much in a year some- 
times, ” he said, and wished while he did so that 
she wonld drop that coolly smiling way of hers, 
and look a little more like the Francesca of yes- 
terday. It is so annoying to one’s vanity to be 
treated as a joke. 

‘‘Can one?” she qneried, in answer to that 
remark of his. “ Yes, I think yon are right, only 
every year gets shorter as we grow old.” 

“I imagined it was happiness, not age, that 
made the years short.” 

“lean not agree with yon from experience,” 
she returned, ‘ ‘ happiness has not as yet short- 
ened them for me, whatever age has done.” 

It was the only sentence that had in it a single 
serious tone, and he wondered if it was because 
she had known happiness so little. Bnt an 
instant more and she was chatting of the scene 
visible throngh the open window — a bit of green 
bay and bine sky, mellowed into accord by the 
snnlight — -of the many advantages of the little 
town as a snmmer resort. 

“I have been here only three days,” she said 
in answer to his qnestion, ‘ • I am waiting for some 
friends to join me here. Lonely? Oh, no. I am 
never that. Yon know I am a worker, not one of 
the idle lilies of the held, and my work is seldom 


120 


IN love’s domains. 


laid aside in my holidays; and for diversion, I 
walk and row, and — sketch sometimes.” 

There was just a trifle of hesitation in this last 
remark, he could not tell if it was through embar- 
rassment or rognishness, but glancing at her 
she looked so perfectly calm that it irritated him 
into saying, bluntly, “I never expected to meet 
you like this.” “Like this?” with a slight rise 
of dark brows. ‘ ‘ I mean with this — this sort of an 
atmosphere. It — pardon my presumption — it is 
not that of our correspondence. ” “No” with an 
inflection that matched the eyebrows; “but it is 
all different, yon know; those letters were, I think, 
from the mind of each to the art of each. There 
was no question of personalities. All that is 
changed when we meet people. Before we did not 
seem like real people, we were only ideas.” 

“And now that yon know me, I am not the sort 
of a person with whom yon care to exchange 
ideas! ” 

There was a sort of doggedness in his persist- 
ence to know the worst, and something akin to it 
came when she said coolly: 

“ But I can not say that I know yon yet, Mr. 
Alison.” 

For a little there was silence. He knew he 
deserved it, yet felt himself impelled to a contin- 
uance of that to which she had virtually given a 
veto. 

“A month ago yon knew me — in part,” he 
blundered, “ only yon have forgotten.” 

“ I seldom forget,” she answered quietly; “but 


GALEED. 


121 


a month ago is a month ago, and our knowledge 
of each other by letter was really but a one-sided 
affair; we each, I think, gave to the other an 
impression of what w^e thought we were. That 
is, I think, what letters amount to generally. But 
when we meet personally, we must begin all over 
again in the conventional way, seeing each other 
with one’ s own vision, and it makes a difference 
— sometimes.’’ 

She laughed slightly at the last sentence. 
But he could not even smile with her, he only 
said: 

‘‘ You are so much disappointed in me? ” 

How persistent the man is?’’ she thought; ‘Ht 
would be a bore, but that his humility is so charm- 
ingly awkward, it fits him so ill,” but aloud, she 
said: 

“No, I could not well be that, your late work 
is good, I think, very good. You are writing 
with a purpose now, one I hope will gain the 
end you have in view, whatever it is.” 

There came to him the impulse to tell her the 
thoughts he had since he saw her yesterday, the 
certainty that the end in view was, in a great 
part, her approval, that without her faith his 
ambition staggered, and felt itself without a goal. 
And then he could have laughed aloud at an 
imj)ulse so absurd as he looked at her face so 
carelessly non-committal, and knew that all his 
hopes of helpful friendship were ended through 
the level glances she gave him, and her refusal to 
meet him on the footing their letters had built. 


122 


IN love’^s domains. 


He seemed in the midst of a chaotic wreck of 
thought, he felt his veins tingling, as with a 
scourge, while he sat there. A scourge j)laited 
of reeds, through which a soulless passion had 
whistled in a season so dead; they come back 
always in some form, these passions, and what- 
ever music their song is set to, the refrain is 
always — regret. 

‘‘We seem to have only my own work to dis- 
cuss,” he said, at last, “but what of yours, are 
you doing any now? ” 

She looked at him a moment, thinking wickedly 
in woman fashion, “Yes, it will serve him right,” 
and rang a little bell, that was answered by an old 
colored woman, who courtsied when she saw the 
stranger, and asked, “ Whah tis. Miss Jude?” 

“ Bring me the small, blue portfolio, Lisa, it is 
on the table in my room,” she said, with more 
tenderness of tone and glance than she had seemed 
to i3ossess; and when it was brought, she turned 
over the loose sheets until she found an orna- 
mental heading of shells and sea-weed that out- 
lined the word “ Mizpah.” She handed it to him 
in silence. 

“ My poem,” he said, in wondering, half-shamed 
surprise, “ I — I did not think of publishing 
that.” 

“No? But that need not deter one from 
making sketches if there are pictures in a bit of 
writing. I have often done that for jDractice, and 
I did so with this.” 

“ It is not worth such exquisite work,” he said 


GALEED. 


123 


quietly, “I sent it with those manuscripts, but 
never thought it worth publication.” 

“ I am not sure of that,” she said, in an argu- 
mentative manner, ‘‘ I do not believe you know it, 
though you did write it. Have you ever read it 
aloud?” 

‘‘No, I never have,” he answered, wonder- 
ingly. 

“Then, of course, you do not know it,” she 
decided, “ Here it is, read it aloud and see if you 
don’t make its acquaintance over again.” 

‘ ‘ Why, what difference — ’ ’ 

“ I am not sure what it is, the literary merit of 
it may not be high; you seem to judge it from that 
standpoint, but there was something I liked in it 
when read aloud.” 

“You might help me to see its beauties, if you 
would not mind reading it to me.” 

It was a bold sally after the rebuffs he had met. 
He really did not care much about the article, 
scarcely remembering any thoughts in it. But 
the desire for any subject of conversation in wdiich 
there would be no jarring element made him des- 
perate. 

She looked at him for an instant in surprise, 
surprise that was quickly hidden, however, as she 
said, in a most matter-of-fact w^ay, “ Oh, certainly, 
I may not read w^ell, but it possibly wdll help give 
you the impression I spoke of, and help you to 
believe it worth my sketches.” 

He nodded understand ingly, vdthout speaking, 
and turned his eyes out toward the sea, instead of 


124 


IN' love’s domains. 

toward her face, as she read, in a subdued tone, 
his bit of verse: 

“ Mizpah! here our lives drift wider asunder, 

Why? or whence? ah me, the vain endeavor 
Of sad lips to answer what the heart asks! 

Close through stormy weather have our hands clasped, 
And our life-boat rode the waves in laughter; 

Naught to us the storms — we had each other! 

And glad eyes kept darkness far beyond us. 

Now the waves seem lulled to rest forever. 

And life’s sea in smoothest tones invites us; 

On we move — but, ah, my friend, the pity! 

Tido boats now drift outward to the ocean. 

And the water, clear as crystal, mirrors 
' Two tired faces and sad eyes that see not; 

Back we dare not look, for there is floating 
In our wake a corpse, the thing that lightened 
All our lives is lifeless; and love’s music 
Only comes to listening ears in echoes 
Of a dear, dead happiness. Above us 
Brassy skies are burning; outward drift we. 

With no hope of green isles in our future. 

Coral reefs there may be, and false beacons 
Oft lure tired lives. What is, is written. 

Here we raise our monument, moan ‘ Mizpah,’ 

And drift down, alone, life’s unknown vistas.” 

He did not speak for a little after she ceased 
reading. He had forgotten what prompted that 
bit of verse; he rather thought it the outgrowth 
of a fancy he had for trying different construc- 
tions of verse, and the theme had been a sort of 
chance affair. But hearing it read in those warm, 
deep tones, gave it a new meaning to him. 

“It is musical,” he agreed; “yes, when you 
read it; and I had thought it nothing — only a 
fragment.” 


GALEED. 


125 


‘^It suggested the sketches at any rate,” she 
answered, and watched him as he took up the 
larger drawing, two shallops drifted apart by the 
winds of the sea, the occuj)ants — a man and a 
woman — reaching hands longingly toward each 
other, all the mistiness of the horizon forming a 
background for the intense faces turned each to 
each. 

‘‘It is beautiful,” he said, earnestly. 

“Whicli, the i)oem or the sketch?” she asked 
as curiously as though she had not seen his eyes 
grow pleased over her work. 

“Your sketch, you know I mean that,” and 
his tone was slightly impatient. It vexed him 
to hear her speak to him in a superficial way, 
when through all her work there breathed ear- 
nestness. It was as if she deemed him too far below 
comprehension of the earnestness of life or 
exj)ression. “The illustrations might sell the 
poem, but without it, my fragment of verse would 
never be noticed.” 

“Well,” she said, half jestingly, “when you 
find yourself longing for the fame of Poesy, send 
to me for the sketches and verse.” 

“ I may take you at your word sometime,” he 
answered, “you have given me an interest in the 
lines I had almost forgotten; when I send for 
them, remember the promise.” 

Long after they both remembered that careless- 
ness of conversation, both so unconscious of the 
significance of the poem that was in part a 
prophecy. 


126 


IX love’s domains. 


But Just tlien the verse and the sketch had 
brought a tinge of earnestness into their little 
scene that Mrs. Holmes hastened to drive into 
the background by asking of the theatres, asking 
what was new, discussing what was old. 

‘‘I have seen so little, my home has been 
mostly in the country,” she said, appealing to 
his judgment in some matter of metropolitan life. 

“ And you like the repose of it best,” he asked, 
hox^ing to find a theme congenial. 

“ Y-e-s,” in a hesitating way, ‘‘that is, in the 
season of green leaves. But repose so often 
means monotony. It is delightful in XDictures 
and poems of course. But elevated roads are so 
convenient.” 

And in despair he gave up, and bade her good- 
morning, feeling almost as if the day had been a 
failure. 

“May I come to see you again, before I leavef ’ 
he asked, at parting. 

And again she thought, ‘‘how persistent the 
man is;” but said, “certainly, I would be glad 
to have you meet my friends, the Winans, a 
lovely old-young couple, my closest friends. If 
your other duties will allow you time, we should 
like to have you to dinner with us to-morrow.” 

He could see that he was asked to meet her 
friends, not herself. But he said, concisely: 

“I have no duties here, few anywhere, and I 
will come,” and then he held out his hand. It 
seemed out of tune with all his former fancies to 
leave her less cordially. 


GALEED. 


127 


“ I want to tell you,” he said, stubbornly, “how 
much you have helped me through those letters. 
I — I tell you this because I — well, it seems as if 
some way our acquaintance has a tone so different 
from our correspondence, and it is to me a regret. 
Your influence — ” 

“ My influence!” she broke in softly, ironically; 
“ I rather think the imagination that is so admir- 
able in your work is rather strained when applied 
to my influence. Do not youl’ ’ and she glanced 
at him amusedly. 

“I do not; it is not imagination. The lack of 
that most pleasant friendship is more than a 
regret, it is a loss. 1 would like you to believe I 
am in earnest.” 

And then he was gone. She dropped into 
a chair by the window, smiling still. That 
quizzical gleam in her eyes was the last he had 
seen of her, and it had made him blunder a 
little over the words that he yet spoke so deter- 
minedly. 

And as she sat there trying to make herself 
believe that she cared only to laugh, she saw him 
pass out across the lawn, his hat pulled rather 
low over his eyes. As she watched the tall figure 
saunter down toward the beach, her lips curled 
a little, but softened to whisper: 

“ It is a pity; I am sorry; yes, it is a pity.” 

She brought her drawing and went to work at 
the window, but some way did not make much 
headway. Her eyes wandered so often down 
toward the water. It was not a day for work, 


128 


IN love’s domains. 


and she had just determined to go for a walk 
when the colored boy again appeared. 

“This for yon, Mrs. Holmes, with Mr. Alison’s 
compliments.” 

This was a large, flat envelope, and with it a 
scribbled card: 

“ I called to return these, but some way forgot 
my errand. — D ale Alison.” 

These were the words, and opening the envelope 
she found the lost letter and sketches of yester- 
day. She glanced at that of the two figures, and 
then out on the bay where a solitary boat was 
foaming through the water to a hazy shore of the 
mainland. She even picked up a glass and 
watched through it a coatless figure holding a 
rudder grimly in one hand and a most plebeian- 
looking short pipe in the other. She dropped the 
glass with a little laugh. 

“ I wondered how we should meet, or what we 
should think of each other if we ever did. W ell, 
all things come to those who wait. I have 
waited. It all seems like a whimsical bit of com- 
edy that ventures just to the edge of seriousness.” 

And then the thoughts scarcely seemed worth 
formation, for she sat with half-closed eyes, still 
and lazy in the shadow of the curtain. But her 
face in repose was no longer cynical; tired, almost 
wistful, were the eyes that held in them the ele- 
ments of tragedy more surely than the tinsel and 
brusquerie of comedy. 

And out on the Sound the sky grew overcast, 
and the wind rose — the east wind that moans 


GALEED. 


129 


always because of its bondage to tears. And into 
the teeth oh it swept the little boat of the man 
who threw, at times, grim, backward glances 
toward the southern shore. 

‘‘Not nearly so romantic as her idea of Miz- 
pah,” he muttered, as he ducked for a short tack 
and drew in sail. 

But some way, the vision of those parted boats 
would persist in floating their shapely timbers 
over the same waters that tossed his own craft 
out — out from the shore where she had laughed. 


CHAPTER Y. 

Three weeks later two ladies sat on the shady 
side of a steamer that was plowing its way over 
the winters of the Sound, past Greenport, up past 
the ripple of the Narrows vhere the waters meet, 
on around the curves and the clifls of Shelter 
Island, across the mouth of Peconic Bay, and 
toward the old-time whaling port of Sag Harbor. 

The one lady was Alison’s Francesca, Mrs. 
Holmes. 'J'he other was a dainty little blossom of 
a woman, her dress the gray of her hair. A 
charming old lady, with the instincts of a little 
coquette peeping through the quaint daintiness 
of lace frills, caressing the shining XDatent-leather 
shoe. 

“You are really not taking a vacation at all,” 
she was saying, in a debating tone, to the younger 


130 


IX love’s bomaixs. 


woman, who only smiled at her. “Yon have 
been working hard at your drawings six hours of 
every day since we came to the island. Do you 
call that a vacation? You are really not strong 
enough to work like that.” 

‘‘Do not judge me by your own fragile little 
self,” advised the other; “you seem to imagine 
because I am not a stout, red-cheeked creature, 
that I must perforce be a weakling. I am sure I 
rowed you two miles for lilies yesterday, and 
brought you home without being too much 
exhausted to eat my own share of supper. What 
further proof do you want of my vitality?” 

“That is all very well,” nodded the little lady, 
“but one of the last things Lisa told me before 
starting for Carolina was to try to keep an eye on 
you; that you have not been sleeping well; that 
you are restless at night, and nervous, and — ” 

“So that is the cause of this little lecture, is 
it?” queried the other; “Lisa has been foolish 
enough to exaggerate my restlessness of a few 
nights into a serious affair for your consideration. 
I am rather glad the dear old creature has gone 
back to her peoi3le for these few weeks; she is 
growing fanciful in her old age.” 

“ Well, of course, she is likely to be over anx- 
ious, since she is so attached to you. But she 
must have some foundation for those statements.” 

“You should not be credulous enough to take 
Lisa’s tales at her own worth, Mrs. Winans,” 
returned the younger woman; “ Lisa has conjured 
up lock-jaw for me out of a i)ricked finger, and 


GAjuEED. 


131 


braiti fever out of a headache as long as I can 
remember. ” 

‘ ‘ But if you are so well, what is the reason you 
are not sleeping?” persisted the little lady. 

‘‘ Happiness, my dear,” was the calm reply. 

“ Happiness?” was the doubtful query. 

‘ ‘ Certainly, a supreme content in the mere fact 
of existence — a content so overwhelming that I lie 
awake o’ nights to think of it.” 

The suggestion of the unexpressed in the last 
speech w^as as a wall over which there seemed no 
easy passage. In silence they sat for a little 
while, and then the old lady dropped her hand 
gently on the arm of the other. 

‘‘Don’t worry, dear,’' she said, softly, “you are 
too young to know heavy weights of trouble.” 

“ Too young?” and the repetition had a tinge of 
bitterness; “is one ever too young for that? My 
heaviest troubles came four years ago. They are 
mostly over now. I am alone, and that itself is a 
boon.” 

“ It seems unnatural for a young person to look 
on life like that,” remonstrated Mrs. Winans; “ I 
will never be content until I see your life made 
what woman’s life should be, one of home, love, 
and companionship. ” 

Mrs. Holmes pressed the little gray-gloved 
hand lovingly, even while she said: “Stop just 
where you are, you chronic match-maker! Let 
me get what content freedom holds — and it is so 
much to one who has been in prison.” 

Just then a gentleman joined them, a portly, 


132 


IN LOVE'S DOMAINS. 


burly individual, wlio settled down by tlie old 
lady like an elephant beside a little, gray dove. 

‘‘Well, little woman, how is it?” he asked, 
referring to the beauty of the Sound, with its 
lovely patches of irregular shores, “bracing, 
eh? And how is our little captain? Glad you 
came, ain’t you? I tell you this breeze is a 
tonic.” 

“Yes,” agreed his wife. “But you, major, 
always come booming around more like a hurri- 
cane than a breeze. Do try and be a little more 
restful.” 

“Can’t, my dear. If I was restful I would have 
to deprive myself of tobacco, and buy anti-fat 
medicine instead. I’ve just been tramping the 
upper deck with the mate until I’m pretty well 
blown, and came down here for a quiet breath.” 

“But you do not allow yourself to take it 
quietly,” said Mrs. Holmes, slyly; and the old 
gentleman laughed good-naturedly. 

“Ah! you know me little captain, don’t you? 
I suppose I seldom do stop chatting long enough 
to take breath. But I just heard something of 
our Oyster Bay friend, Mr. Alison.” 

“ He is not an ‘Oyster Bay’ friend,” corrected 
Mrs. Winans. “How can we call him that when 
his mother and I were friends before he was 
born, and I have actually held him in my arms as 
a babe.” 

“Oh, you have, have you?” growled her hus- 
band with intense ferocity. “ Only let me see 
him in your arms, that’s all.” 


GALEED. 


133 


“And so,” continued his wife, not noticing the 
interruption, “and so we can not call him merely 
a sea-side acquaintance. I really like him too 
well to drop him that way.” 

“Um, hum!” grunted her husband. “The 
only comfort I have in this case is that the gentle- 
man does not reciprocate, for he most assuredly 
was not too much infatuated to drop you, after 
one dinner together,” and he chuckled maliciously 
and confidentially to Mrs. Holmes. 

“ That is a most unkind, uncalled for remark,” 
announced his wife, “isn’t it, Judith? He had 
to leave because of business; he said so, and I 
am sure he is too honest to resort to fibs.” 

“Fibs is scarcely the word,” assented the 
major, “there is a stronger one used sometimes 
that might fit such cases.” 

“Major!” 

“ I always know when she says ‘ major’ in that 
tone that it is time to get behind a barricade. 
Say, little captain, let me get behind you? ” 

“Instead of beating a retreat, you had better 
enlighten us as to Mr. Alison’s perfidy,” sug- 
gested Mrs. Holmes, anxious to settle this amic- 
able quarrel. 

“Certainly, with pleasure, with decided pleas- 
ure, since it may squelch an infatuation dangerous 
to domestic felicity; squelch is not an elegant 
word, but it is handy,” he explained. “But to 
proceed: You remember an evening a few weeks 
ago when you invited a journalistic friend, not 
an Oyster Bay acquaintance, to dine with us? 


134 


IN love’s domains. 


And you, little captain, may remember the dead- 
set made at his rakish charms by my s^Douse; its 
no use, Mrs. Winans, to tell me how handsome he 
is. Can you expect me to see anything charming 
in the destroyer of my peace? And you remem- 
ber how she hunted up a buried friendship with 
his departed mamma? The poor lady could not 
come from her grave to deny it, and she meanly 
took advantage of that fact. Well, my dear, it 
was not strictly honorable; and in fact, she at 
once began laying out such a route of rides and 
sails at which he saw he would have to act as 
escort, and at once convenient business was 
pleaded, and served to call him to some unmen- 
tioned quarter.” 

‘‘I really do not see the necessity of all this 
preamble,” remarked his wife slightingly. 

“ I am studying dramatic effect, my dear, and 
working up to the climax where truth confronts 
its opposite; and you are informed that your som- 
bre Lothario has been waiting around these shores 
ever since, almost within a stone’s throw of you, 
yet escaped your eagle glance. What do you say 
to that? ’ ’ 

“It’s a — a mistake, surely,” answered his wife; 
“you have been misinformed.” 

“ Oh no, I have not,” returned the major, easily, 
“the mate knows him, and tells me he made the 
trip to Sag Harbor yesterday on this steamer, and 
the chances are you will have an opportunity to 
confront him with his deceit; that is, if he don’t 
see you first.” 


GALEED. 


135 


‘ ‘ Jiiditli ; do you liear this? Do you believe it? ’ ’ 
demanded little Mrs. Winans, blankly. 

“Oh yes; I believe all I hear; I don’t know any 
better.” 

It was the first comment she had as yet made, 
and neither imagined that her silence meant any- 
thing but indifference. 

“And I had such faith in those honest eyes of 
his,” said the little lady, lamentingly. 

“ I see no reason for a loss of faith,” remarked 
Mrs. Holmes; “give him the benefit of the doubt, 
re-instate your idol until you hear the evidence. 
He is a worker. An inspiration may have neces- 
sitated his withdrawal from the giddy crowd for 
a season. Your devotion is weak if it doubts on 
the circu mstantial . ’ ’ 

“Judith, you are a darling! ” 

“Little cai)tain, you're a traitor.” 

“Of course he has much to do,” assented Mrs. 
Winans; “much quiet study to produce those 
beautiful stories of his. He has no need to take 
anti-fat remedies because of inexertion. '* 

“ I rather think,” said the major, reflectively, 
to Mrs. Holmes, “that to win back her affection, 
I shall have to write a novel myself, or a poem. 
She dotes on poems, and there I'll get ahead of 
him, for I don't believe he does anything but 
plain, every-day prose. My mind is made up; 
r ll write a poem. ’ ’ 

“ And I Avill illustrate it.” 

“ It’s a bargain! You owe some penance in this 
affair, because you invited him to that dinner. 


136 


IN love’s domains. 


and over it slie remembered that she had once 
held him in her arms, and from that moment 
dates— well, if my happiness is buried forever, 
I Avill lay the blame at your door.” 

‘‘ Major,” said his wife, briskly, “on our arrival 
you must go at once to the hotels and see if Mr. 
Alison is still here, and if so, bring him to see us, 
bring him to see me.” 

“I’ll entice him down to the harbor and drop 
him in,” confided the major to Mrs. Holmes. 

But on landing at the dock they found them- 
selves all at sea about hotels. They had taken it 
for granted that in a quiet, non-society place like 
Sag Harbor it would be easy to get accommoda- 
tions. But some “high jink,” as the major 
termed it, had brought the neighboring fire 
departments into the little place, and with them 
an infiux of visitors that had taken possession of 
the hotels. “ Everything full,” was the response 
from all quarters. 

“ I feel like getting full myself,” grunted the 
major, sitting down disconsolately on the steps 
of the hotel, whose proprietor offered them 
any amount of space a week ahead, but now — 
no, it was impossible to accommodate even the 
ladies. 

“My one comfort in this,” remarked Mrs. 
Holmes, ‘ ‘ is that Lisa is safe down in the piney 
woods. If she was here she would simply howl, 
or chant Methodist hymns to give vent to her 
feelings at having no roof to cover her.” 

“Judith, you always know the right thing to 


GALEED. 


137 


do at tlie right time,” said Mrs. Winans, flatter- 
ingly; “ do tell us what to do now.” 

‘‘Suppose we hire a boat and live on the bay,” 
was the brilliant suggestion that met only 
glances of disdain from the others, and the major 
sadly drew a railroad schedule out of his satchel, 
preparatory to leaving the town. 

“I think I can helx^ you to something better 
than that, if you will allow me,” said a voice 
inside the window beside which they sat for- 
lornly, 

“Mr. Alison,” breathed Mrs. Winans, grate- 
fully, “ come out of that office at once and shake 
hands with me, and tell us where we can pitch 
our tents.” 

And a moment later he was shaking hands 
heartily with the major and his wife, and as earn- 
estly, if in silence, with Mrs. Holmes. 

“ I forgive you for hiding around the corner of 
the island,” said the old lady, magnanimously. 
“I accept any excuse for you running away, if 
you will only come to our rescue now.” 

“With the assurance of your continued favor 
all things are easy,” he answered, gallantly, and 
then turned to the major. “ Come along,” he said 
briskly, “and come quick, or some one else may 
be ahead of us. I have found a haven out along 
the shore road, and there may be room for your 
party. Let me show the ladies into the parlor 
here, and then I am at your service.” 

But the ladies XDreferred the oj)en porch and 
view of the old village street where the names of 


138 


IN love’s domains. 


Portugese and Lascar swung on many signs under 
which the native of the soil — the Indian — still 
does his trading. 

“Is it not providential, our meeting him?” 
asked Mrs. Winans. 

“Wait until you have seen the results,” sug- 
gested Mrs. Holmes, dryly. “Your faithless 
swain may not after all be a conqueror of 
hotel-keepers, though he is of susceptible 
hearts.” 

“Judith, you are as bad as the major — worse, 
for I do believe you have a prejudice against that 
fine fellow, though you did illustrate his book so 
beautifully. Come, own up.” 

‘ ‘ What shall I acknowledge? I think I have 
been much nicer to Mr. Alison than he has been 
to us.” 

“Y — es — no — I’m not sure that you have,” 
returned the little lady, thoughtfully. “That 
evening he silent with us I remember thinking 
you were as near horrid as it was possible for 
you to be.” 

“Don’t mind complimenting me if you feel 
like it.” 

“I shan’t,” returned her fault-finder, calmly; 
“for you can be so thoroughly charming with 
people if you want to. But that night a perverse 
spirit made you appear the most shallow and 
frivolous of girls. Yo one would have imagined 
you ever had a serious thought. And he admired 
you. A^es, I am sure he did. But I know he 
expected something much more intellectual than 


OALEED. 


189 


you showed yourself that evening. Why, you 
were perfectly devoted to the major, and the pair 
of you talked sheep-breeding and high and low 
pasture lands until one would think you had been 
born in a stable, and never had any higher themes 
of conversation.” 

“Goon. What a memory you have for rem- 
iniscences.” 

“Don’t you really like him, Judith?” 

‘ ‘ I would not dare say ‘ no ’ even if I thought 
it,” said Mrs. Holmes, banteringly. “Of course 
I like the man well enough. He is as good as the 
average specimen, I dare say. And it behooves 
me to be agreeable, else he may withdraw his 
lordly favor in the shape of future work.” 

“Judith!” 

“I’m done.” 

‘ ‘ I will not have you look on my friends in that 
horrid, mercenary light.” 

“ Your friends? Do you remember it was I 
who introduced you? I knew him first.” 

“I,’’ triumphantly announced the little lady, 
with an air of check, “danced him on my knee 
years and years ago.” 

“ I give in,” laughed Mrs. Holmes. “ As yet I 
have not had that felicity.” 

“Judith!” 

“ My dear, you will, I am sure, develop into a 
little gray-garbed exclamation point if you per- 
sist in that startling habit you have of quelling 
the major and myself.” 

“Do try and be a little nicer to him now that 


140 


IN love’s domains. 


we have met again,” said Mrs. Winans, per- 
suasively; “really it seems like fate.” 

“It seems a great deal more like following him,” 
returned Mrs. Holmes, in a matter-of-fact way. 
And then they saw the forms of their scouts 
coming up the street, and judged from the 
major’s satisfied face that it had been a successful 
raid. 

“I give in, little woman,” he said, when in 
speaking distance; “your nursling is a genius 
in the way of a guide. You are installed in the 
prettiest, breeziest of rooms, with a view that is 
an invigorator in itself; a resting place to gladden 
the hearts of just such tramps as we. Come 
along, little captain, I leave my spouse to express 
her gratitude to Mr. Alison, and we will lead the 
way in the direction of dinner — it smells excel- 
lent.” 

And a pleasant resting place they really found 
it; a big white frame house with immense wide 
porches, and a great, grassy yard reaching down 
to the street that was really more like a country 
road, for beyond it Avas a meadow where the cat- 
tle grazed almost to the water’ s edge. And out 
from that shimmered the waves in the noon sun, 
away across to the long bar of yellow sand that 
breaks in two the distance between the home 
shore and the lighthouse. 

“It is glorious,” admitted Mrs. Holmes, step- 
ping out on the porch, where an after-dinner 
smoke was making the air redolant of Durham, 
N. C. 


GALEED. 


141 


‘‘The credit is all Mr. Alison’s. Come right 
here and say something nice to him,” commanded 
Mrs. Winans, who had preceded her, and joined 
the gentlemen, the youngest of whom gave her his 
chair, and tossing his cigar away, arranged a cor- 
ner for Mrs. Holmes, where the view was best. 
Into it she dropped, indolently, with a gracious 
nod of thanks. 

‘ ‘ I am not at all sure that I know how to say 
nice things,” she remarked, “but if any one will 
prompt me I will do my best.” 

“ I think an extremely nice thing to say would 
be that you are not sorry to see me again,” ven- 
tured Alison. 

“ How could I possibly be that when we have 
been such gainers through your kindness? I am 
really very grateful.” 

“You may call that nice, but I was not fishing 
for gratitude,” he returned, drily. 

“What’s that about fishing?” called the major, 
from the steps, where he was watching a couple 
of boys tussling on the grass; “good fishing about 
here?” 

“No,” said Mrs. Holmes, provokingly, “Mr. 
Alison finds the water too shallow.” 

“Not that exactly,” he returned, “only 
wind and tide are rather perverse for smooth 
sailing.” 

And then their eyes chanced to meet, and did 
not seem able to part unconsciously, and both 
having a rather keen sense of the ridiculous, found 
themselves laughing in each other’ s faces, without 


142 


IN love’s domains. 


any reason that conld be easily explained to a 
third person. 

‘ ‘ Did yon really rnn away around the corner of 
the island, as Mrs Winans accused you of doing?” 
she asked, after a little, and the mere question 
gave liim a hope that a part of the barrier was 
slipping away. Several times in their rather pecu- 
liar acquaintance, he had thought that, and then, 
without the slightest Avarning, had suddenly 
found it raised again, and herself buried behind it 
completely out of sight. 

“I did not run away, I sailed away,” he 
returned, literally, ‘ ‘ and I came around the cor- 
ners, as you term it, because it was the only way 
I could reach Montauk Point, as I am doing some 
work for which it was — ’ ’ 

“There, there,” she protested, “I am not 
installed as confessor to you; I leave that to Mrs. 
AVinans, who was disconsolate at not being able to 
renew more thoroughly your former acquaint- 
ance.” 

“One that was all on her side,” he returned, 
“owing to my insensibility, at that age, to the 
charms of ladies in general,” 

“ One you have outgrown, I dare say,” said the 
old lady, who was promenading the porch, and 
reached their corner in time to hear the last 
remark. 

“ I shall try to prove so during your stay,” he 
answered her, “ as under existing circumstances, 
we are obliged to live under the same roof, unless 
you decree that I shall take myself boatward.” 


GALEED. 


143 


“You are much more likely to take to a boat 
of your own accord,” she smiled in return; “ but 
if you do remain, I promise to see that we do not 
in the least interfere with your work. You shall 
be just as industrious as you like, you, and Judith, 
too. In fact, she never does, and never will stop 
her work for any one. She is the most indepen- 
dent of mortals, and never expects the little 
attentions of life, and I — well, I do a little. But 
the major is never far off. So you two young 
people can work through your vacations to your 
hearts’ content.” 

“That sounds very well,” remarked the major 
in an aside to Alison, “and is likely to quell a 
man’s fears of fans, and sun umbrellas, and lunch 
baskets, and awnings, but I happen to know that, 
little as she is, she can keep three men busy wait- 
ing on her, and two is a mere bagatelle.” 

“One could not reckon you among the baga- 
telles, major,” said his wife, with a comprehen- 
sive glance at his aldermanic proportions. 

“Now there’s little captain,” he continued, 
heedless of the last remark, “ she is a thoroughly 
good fellow, and always able to look after her- 
self.” 

“Thanks, major. It has been an affair of 
‘have to’ so often, that I never think of wait- 
ing for anyone else to take care of me, and am 
glad my friends appreciate my lack of dependence 
on them.” 

“Yes — yes. You always were like that even 
when a little chap. You know, Mr. Alison, Mrs. 


144 


IN love’s domains. 


Holmes and myself have been chums ever since 
she was in pinafores; I helped teach her to ride 
and swim, and she does me credit, too.” 

Alison found himself wondering, with a sort of 
puzzled humor, at his old ideas of this artist. His 
written opinions of her character, her soul, as he 
fancied he had caught glimpses of them; and to. 
hear her claimed in this sort of good-fellowshij), 
even by an old friend, was as much of a surprise 
as her cynical, half-coquetry at their first meet- 
ing. It gave him a puzzling feeling of complexity. 
Her personality in any phase given him was 
unsatisfactory, a disappointment. Yet back of 
all his distaste, her face shone out clearly to him, 
and in its eyes was a something of feeling that 
belied all the carelessness of raillery. 

“She interests, and she disturbs me,” he con- 
fided to his pipe an hour or so later. “ She is a 
loss, and a gain. She has taken from me all 
those exalted ideal fancies I had of her. But she 
has given me instead a character whose study 
should be a thing desired by a writer. I wonder 
if that is not a very cold-blooded way to think of 
her after— after— well, it is not I, it is herself. I 
feel ashamed in her eyes when I remember that 
episode of Oyster Bay, and yet, I am irritated 
with her for not being what I hoped. It is a 
decided mix.” 

After that decision, the pipe having emptied 
itself into air, he proceeded to disrobe, stopi)ing 
now and then for a long stare at himself in the 
mirror, as if it was his own face that puzzled him 


GALEED. 


145 


instead of another’s, and then with a lazy, luxuri- 
ous stretch between the sheets, he yawned him- 
self sleej)ily into another query: “ I wonder how 
long she has been a widow, and I wonder — I won- 
der what Mr. Holmes was? That knowledge 
might help one to see a little daylight through 
this confused personality.” 


CHAPTER VI. 

Because its way was as a lost star’s way, 

A world not wholly known of day or night. 
****** 

Song, have thy day and take thy fill of light 
Before the night be fallen across thy way. 

Swinburne. 

Sag Harboe, L. I., June 15, 188 — . 

My Dear G-eorge: Yes, I am still here in this 
delightfully primitive end of the island, the por- 
tion of it where wild bits will persist in stubbornly 
resisting all things modern or civilized. I find it 
most enjoyable, and have met people here pleasant 
to know— two that are delightful old characters, 
Mr. and Mrs. Winans, and the third is Mrs. 
Holmes. You will wonder, no doubt, that I have 
not written of our meeting before. I have known 
her now three weeks, or I can scarcely say I 
know her, either. If I had been more sure of that 
you would have heard of our meeting earlier. 
We are two different people from the writers of 


146 


IN love’s domains. 


those letters, and it is rather humiliating to have 
to confess that I deserve a sort of neglect that I 
have been treated to in that direction. The cause 
is not easy to explain; it is through no new short- 
coming, but merely because the shadows of the 
old have such a trick of cleaving to a man. You 
know the earnest, sympathetic character I had 
pictured her. Well, what do you imagine the 
realization to be^ A gay, careless, beautiful 
creature. Those are the first words of description 
that occur to me. They do not suggest the writer 
of those letters, do they? To me she is a Mona 
Lisa, laughing always with her lips, yet com- 
Xielling thought always with her eyes. Her 
friends adore her, and despite the contradictory 
curves in her nature I feel always a sense of its 
fineness. A certainty that friendship from her 
would be as a friendship) from man to man — with- 
out any mistaken ideas for a foundation such as 
generally exist between men and women. You 
would have to know her independence of char- 
acter to understand this idea of her. 

I wish you could come down here for a few 
days. You would like each other I am sure, and 
against you she would build up) no barricade. 

I forgot to mention that Mrs. Winans knew 
my mother, and remembers Julia as a child quite 
well, and on the strength of those reminiscences 
has delegated me as escort in ordinary to herself 
— in fact has adopted me in the most motherly 
fashion. A dainty, charming, make-believe 
mother, who is looked after still as a sort of 


GALEED. 


147 


spoiled child by her big, jolly, good-natured hus- 
band. 

. Come down if you can. I believe the Winans 
expect friends for a few days’ stay, and a young 
girl who is to be left in their charge for the sum- 
mer. I know the male portion of the party; 
Hallet is the name; iDleasant sort of fellows. But 
the quartette here for the past week has been in 
many ways a pleasant affair, and I do not care to 
have pleasant affairs banished by new-comers, 
who swoop down with the assured presumption 
of prior rights through first acquaintanceship. 

This strikes me as being a very different- tone of 
letter from the last one I wrote you regarding my 
artist friend. I called her friend then with more 
certainty than I can now. The unexpected seems 
always happening in our acquaintance, and I 
find myself wondering if the interest in each 
other that seemed fraught with earnest good is 
after all to dwindle into a mere episode, a sug- 
gestion of helpful promises empty of fulfillment. 

But moralizing is out of tune with the weather 
to-day. A stiff breeze is blowing, just enough to 
take us out to deep water, where I think the fish 
are waiting for us, so a good-bye to you. Write 
me when you feel in the humor, and come to me 
if you can. Dale. 

A few days after the posting of the above a 
large row-boat, cutting its w^ay over the home 
waters of the Sound, had on board a party of 
visitors, together with the Ballets, whose coming 
Alison had not regarded with special favor. 


148 


IN lovk’s domains. 


There was the father, a slightly built gentle- 
man with eye-glasses and mutton-chop whiskers 
that, together with a tourist cap, gave him quite 
an English air — a bit of a dandy despite his gray 
hairs and his grown children. Two of them — 
Tom, a young fellow of twenty-two, and Grace, a 
girl of sixteen— the identical Grace who had 
helped eat Alison’s candies that day at Oyster 
Bay, and who, despite conventional introductions, 
persisted in calling him Fra Lippo. 

‘‘ Why not?” she demanded of Mrs. Holmes, 
who had smiled questioningly at the title, “ Tom 
says it’ s too familiar, but I can’t see that it is, 
only to call a man by the name of a monk who 
died generations ago. I think it gives quite an 
ecclesiastical tone to an acquaintance, don’t you?” 

‘‘An ecclesiastical tone seems rather far- 
fetched, does it not? He was a sad bohemian — I 
mean, of course. Fra Lipx)o.” 

A little back of them sat Alison, and hearing 
the words, smiled a little, not a very gay smile. 
Nothing in this new acquaintance seemed to 
partake of gayety to him, though the bit of sug- 
gestion in her speech might have shown him 
that her interest had been enough to make her 
remember. 

‘'Papa likes him,” continued the girl, “and so 
does Tom, and I — well, I just think he’s a dar — 
well, splendid,” she amended, in view of Mrs. 
Holmes’ raised brows. “ Fra Lippo himself could 
not be more interesting — a novelist, too! and I 
just dote on literary people.” 


GALEED. 


149 


‘‘My blushes prompt me to tell you I am 
here,’* said a voice back of them, “and the wind is 
blowing your stage whispers straight to me, and, 
Miss Grace, if you have any more of those pleas- 
ant things to say, tell them to me; I will be much 
more easily convinced of my own charms than 
you will find Mrs. Holmes. She has an ingrained 
disbelief in me.” 

“How can you say that?” asked Mrs. Winans, 
after they had landed, and scattered over the 
beach, or wandered into the woods. “ I am quite 
sure Judith thinks well of you, but you see her 
own experiences have made her a little cynical as 
to men in general. ’ ’ 

The old lady seemed to take it for granted that 
he knew something about those hinted at experi- 
ences, and the mere fact that they had existed 
made him wonder a little as to their tone, but he 
only said: “Yes, no doubt,” in a non-committal 
way. 

“You see she was very young when the mar- 
riage took place,” continued the old lady, as if in 
extenuation of something, “and it seems such a 
pity that it should have affected her life as it has. 
She does not seem to forget it easily, but then she 
never was like most girls.” 

“No,” he said, looking at her where she sat, 
quiet and alone in the edge of the woods, where 
the sweet bay grows down to the sea sand, “ no, 
she is not.” 

“I am so glad you find her exceptional,” but- 
tered the little gray dove in a pleased way, “so 


150 


IN love’s domains. 


few people know her at lier best; in fact, but few 
people ever know her at all, slie is so averse to 
society in general. ” 

‘‘Yet slie seems fitted for a social life,’’ lie 
remarked, feeling that he should say something, 
but preferring to watch lazily the subject of their 
conversation. 

“ Certainly she is,” assented her friend warmly, 
‘‘but her strange education, her queer training, 
you know, gave her too serious a nature for a girl. 
At seventeen she w^as more an atheist than any- 
thing else.” 

“ What?” he said, in slow surprise, raising him- 
self on his elbow. 

“ Y"es,” she nodded, “I used to think it terrible 
when I met them first. But her father was the 
same; she knew nothing else. What a dreamer 
that man was, but brilliant — yes, decidedly so. 
And such a clique as he kexit about him! queer 
companions for a girl — earnest scientists, worn- 
out pretenders, victims of either churches or gov- 
ernments abroad; in fact, the x^lace always seemed 
redolent of gunj)owder plots and martyrdom. His 
house was open, and toward the last, his j)ockets 
generally empty. And all the while Judith 
growing to womanhood, with little care but that 
of Lisa, her nurse. Just think of such dubious, 
shifting surroundings for a girl.” 

“ She does not seem ever to have belonged to 
such surroundings,” he answered. 

“Certainly not; but as I said before, she was 
not like other girls, else she would have been 


GALEED. 


151 


influenced by it very badly, led into all sorts of 
wild hobbies. But as it was, she with her nature 
was only led through it into marriage.” 

‘‘Was he — was her husband of the same ideas 
in a religious way?” he asked. 

“Winnett Holmes? Well, I should imagine 
his fancies in religion, were as in all things else 
— changeable. He was a dilletante in those days, 
a skimmer of all things serious, but a trifler 
always; one of the men whom the major says is a 
good fellow among the boys, but not an angel in 
the home circle. But Judith, with her earnest 
way of taking tinsel for gold, did not see the 
pretenses and the hollowness until it was too 
late.” 

“No doubt it is often so in love affairs, is it 
not?” he asked, rather lamely. 

“You ought to know just as much about that 
as an old woman like me,” she returned, half- 
teasingiy; “ but the worst of this was that I don't 
believe there was any love affair about it. He 
was infatuated with her, and had made love to 
too many women not to know exactly how to win 
a great, lonely, serious child, for she was little 
more when her father died. She had a sort of 
fancy that life would go on much the same with 
herself and a husband, as it had been with herself 
and her father— one of simplicity and study. 
Well, you will have to hear the major tell his 
usual order of life to show one how short a time it 
took to disillusion a girl of her dreamy impracti- 
cal nature.” 


152 


IN love’s domains. 


‘‘ It is best after all then that she has been left 
alone — so,” he said approvingly. As he glanced 
across at her, where the others had joined her, 
and she was skimming the water with pebbles, 
her laugh coming to them clearly as she distanced 
Tom Hallet in the same feat; and watching the 
girlishness of her manner, it seemed to him only 
right that anything in the way of a weight should 
be removed from her life, if even by death. 

“Of course it is best,” said Mrs. Winans, deci- 
dedly. “It was an unfortunate affair and has 
changed all her ideas of happiness; now^ the sum 
total to her seems to be freedom. Just to have 
her work, and live her life alone.” 

“ And her religion?” he queried, remembering 
those letters of hers that seemed to him so full of 
a helpful spirit of religion, though in reality it 
may not have been an orthodox one. 

“ She never discusses that now,” answered the 
old lady, “and I have a hope that among other 
things he made hateful to her was that sham of 
pretense. For I think he was really too shallow 
even to have been an honest atheist.” 

“An honest atheist,” repeated Alison, smiling; 
“we are not far enough advanced as yet to hear 
that term in a commonplace way. It sounds 
anomalitic.” 

“ It would not if you had known her father,” 
she returned warmly. “ He was an honest athe- 
ist and an exceptional nature, one that he has 
given in part to Judith. The sort that keeps itself 
clean even when helping others out of the mud. 


GALEED. 


153 


But through his associates and her husband one 
could see how much pretense there is among those 
dissenters from faith. A desire to be thought of 
stronger mind than those who let themselves 
believe. There is as much pretense among athe- 
ists as there is in the churches.” 

‘‘And she has drifted away from them, you 
think?' ’ 

‘ ‘ I scarcely know. She does not sjjeak of her- 
self with her old freedom; we have not seen much 
of her for two years; since she has been doing 
book illustrating she has traveled much, just 
herself and Lisa, and the contact with strangers 
has given a sort of veneer that she never used 
to have, an independence, and a pretense of 
frivolity that is not natural. Look at her now! 
Just for the moment in that romp with Grace she 
is herself, but in five minutes she is so likely to act 
the most Ijlase of mortals. I fee] like lecturing her, 
sometimes, and then again I can only feel sorry.” 

A little later the old lady’s gossiping was 
ended by Grace, who captured her and insisted 
that she go over and read a lecture to the major ' 
whom she declared was flirting shamefully with 
her. And Alison lay where she had left him, his 
eyes following Mrs. Holmes and Tom Hallet as 
they sauntered along the beach shying pebbles 
and talking. Now they reach a strip of boggy 
land, and Tom holds her hand and helps her over, 
and now he takes her parasol and saunters along 
with his hand almost touching the white draped 
shoulder. What decided shoulders she has, he 


154 


m love’s domains. 


thought^ and at the same time, how insignificant 
Tom Hallet could look. He had known him for 
some time, but the idea had never struck him with 
such force until he saw him bending toward 
Mrs. Holmes in that impressive manner. 

“What idiots some men can look when there 
is a woman in the question,” he thought, morosely, 
and then laughed as he added, “ I wonder which 
of us Tom would think most like a fool in this 
case?” 

And he rose and stalked over to where the 
others had, by this time, settled down again, like 
a covey of quail, a little up from the shore, and 
under the shade of pine boughs whose aroma was 
so pungent, so insinuating, when touched by the 
sea air. There had been a slight fall of rain the 
night before, just enough to open the lips of 
leaves and blossoms for the drink they crave 
through the summer months, even though the 
wealth of the sea waves creep so close about their 
feet. Ah! that inborn longing of all things in 
Nature! that raises faces, hopes, longings, ever 
upward. That would place wishes among the 
stars, and essay climbing through space, and fail- 
ing, would draw the thing wished for down to 
lower levels! The same principle governs souls 
and the leaves that spring sunward. 

And the idle group drew in long breaths of the 
salt air and the balsam, and chatted indolently to 
the accompaniment of low, rippling waves, and 
whispering branches. 

“A little like that old place of Holmes’ at 


GALEED. 


155 


Elizabeth City,” remarked Mr. Hallet as Alison 
sauntered toward them. ‘‘Just the same sort of 
water- view from that old lawn; only there, one 
had the cypress and Si)anish moss instead of 
these northern trees, a crazy old building that 
was. Has he managed to keep it?” 

“Yes,” answered the major, as he turned 
puffing, and red in the face from pushing Grace 
and the boat out where the water was deep 
enough for her to i)addle around, and try to row. 
“Yes, he had decency enough to settle that on 
her; though, so far, she has had too much pride to 
live in it. But it is only right that he provide 
her with a home at least. I think Claude Latante 
would come back from his grave to set things 
right if he could know what that daughter of his 
has had to live through, simply because of her 
early surroundings, that blinded her to what a 
woman’s life should be.” 

“I think she has set things as near right for 
herself as they can be set now,” said Mrs. 
Winans, “only it has all changed her so terri- 
bly.” 

“Naturally,” assented Mr. Hallet, “I never 
knew her or her family. But what a charming 
scamp he was a few years ago — ten or fifteen — 
with his half Byronic face, and his impressive 
manner that was a fiattery to every woman he 
whispered to or smiled at. I saw him in Montreal 
last summer with a rather dissipated set, and a 
different tone to his manner. He is going down 
hill, but he is interesting to the last.” 


156 


IN love’s domains. 


“ Yes, Holmes liad a nice way with him, a con- 
foundedly nice way,” said the major, slowly. 
“And, in some respects, was mighty taking.” 

“ He must have been,” remarked Mrs. Winans, 
“when he took to abusing his wife.” 

“Clara!” admonished her husband, “that is 
not a comfortable thing to speak of, and, beside, 
it is something one can only have the word of 
servants for — she, herself, would never speak.” 

“I acknowledge the bad taste of it,” asserted 
his wife, “but Mr. Hallet knows his story pretty 
well, and as to Mr. Alison — I forgot for the 
moment; but — ” 

“Please feel no uneasiness on my account,” 
said Alison, hastily, “ since I do not know the 
man you speak of .” 

He noticed that the name was Holmes, and 
thought it probably some relative of the woman 
walking away down along the beach with Tom 
Hallet. Why is it that any two people, even 
though they be the most uncongenial, if they 
happen to walk alone together along a sandy 
shore, or a shady road, always have the appear- 
ance of lovers to an onlooker? 

“And to-day’s laziness and picnic flavor,’^ 
resumed Mr. Hallet, “ some way reminded me of 
the lawn at Holmes Grove. I haven’t been there 
since the war; then I went down from Fort 
Hampton with a party of officers and put in a 
great time in the old house — a fine old place. 
His father was living then, so he had not had 
a chance to get at the property.” 


GALEED. 


157 


“ When he did, he made it fly,” said the major, 
and then turning to Alison: ‘‘Have you ever 
been down through tide- water Virginia or the 
Carolinas?” he asked. “Lots of material there 
for romance writers, I should say.” 

“Not yet; it is a trip I have been promising 
myself. You advise the coast line?” 

“Yes, if you cut across the swamps and get 
out of the beaten paths. The region around that 
old town we were speaking of is full of quaint- 
ness, and some of the homes are pictures — the one 
at Holmes G-rove in particular, with its pink 
stuccoed walls covered with ivy, and shaded by 
live oaks, and you could quarter a regiment in its 
immense rooms.” 

“And its owner is an acquaintance of yours?” 

“ Why, yes. It is Winnett Holmes.” 

Alison had a queer feeling as he heard the 
reply, a something like a slight shock, as he 
thought: “Where was it I heard that name 
lately? Somewhere — where?’ ’ 

And then, still uncertain, he asked: 

“A relative of this Mrs. Holmes?” and it 
seemed an age before some one said: 

“Well, yes. A relative by marriage. He is 
her husband.” 

He did not know who said it, and some way he 
dropped out of the conversation, and they talked 
on, while he lay there looking lazy and half 
sleepy. All their former words that were as 
Choctaw before had now a meaning to him — 
•and such a meaning! “He is her husband.” 


158 


IN love’s domains. 


Then he lived! She was a man’s wife! How he 
had drifted into his ideas of her widowhood he 
could not tell. But, after seeing her, he had never 
once been able to associate any man’ s personality 
with hers. Even when assured of it he could not 
bring his imagination to think of her as belong- 
ing to anyone. So many fogs were cleared from 
his vision of her by those words that hummed 
through his ears for many a day: ‘‘He is her 
husband.” He could understand now the seri- 
ous, half-starved soul that turned to an unknown 
personality for the sympathy that had failed her 
in the lives brought close to her own. He could 
understand the sensitiveness that shrank from 
meeting him on the footing established througli 
their letters. The fear that any should know her 
story and know also that the indifference she 
feigned at times was only a cover for a lonely 
nature. One so unconfessing of its wants that 
only to a piece of paper would it exiDress itself — 
a piece of paper that was as a journal that 
responded, that returned her an answer from one 
who saw only her mind — not her face, and whose 
human eyes she had thought never to meet. Ah, 
yes! He could understand it all now, with a great 
wave of something akin to tenderness in his 
thoughts of her. Not so much to her — the 
woman — as to a being that had suffered; that had 
turned to him; and that, in a degree that might 
be small, was yet, through sympathy, to him a 
possession. And then his thoughts crept nearer, 
to their first meeting. And knowing something 


GALEED. 


159 


of the life she had lived, he could see how she 
had been affected by that scene at the old mill. 
He had helped that day to shatter her faith in 
human nature just as that other man had shown 
her the lives men live. 

Yes, it all seemed so plain to him by this new 
light, so pitifully plain to his remorseful eyes! 
But, in his heart, there surged a determination to 
make it all up to her — to prove somehow that her 
belief was not utterly without cause. If I can 
only try to be worthy,” was the one thought 
uppermost, as he lay there on the sands. And in 
his desire to be worthy, he scarcely questioned 
the cause that prompted it. 

Had he done so, he would have found it cen- 
tered in an emotion, not in a reason. 

What reason had he for gladness over what he 
had heard? What reason that the waves sang 
calmly in rippling promises for the future where, 
before, they had only murmured softly of depths 
in the past? Who can answer for the tides that 
govern emotion? 

Sometimes the hand of God touches a chord in 
the human heart through which the music of 
nature thrills. At times we call it Religion, Love, 
or Genius, according to the moods that govern it. 
It is the touch of the spirit that has led men to 
sacrifice, either to die or to live for the good of 
others. Call it what we may, yet the cause of 
all has a touch of divinity. 

He was but a man, with the passions of earth, 
and the commonplaces of life usually to fill his 


160 


IN LOVE'S DOMAINS. 


hours, yet something of that higher spirit forged 
a bond between himself and that woman that 
day — only the waves, and the winds, and himself 
knew it. But a great gladness came with the 
knowledge that now he understood, and a great 
determination to be worthy to give her needed 
friendship. No one else knew as he did — he felt 
so sure of that. Poor tired heart that she was! 
And she had turned to him once with the hope of 
easing her own load through giving help to 
others! Never again should she find him lacking. 
Never again should he add any hurt to the life 
whose hurts had been so deep. 

And that resolve lightened the sky for him that 
day, and softened all tones of feeling, until 
finally he arose and sauntered down along the 
sands alone. The closeness of even the most 
pleasant of friends jarred on this new feeling 
that had come to him. 

His ideas were not con-nected enough to be 
called thought — they were merely impressions. 
And the sea and the sands were the best com- 
panions — they absorb all, even bits of broken, 
half formed speech. And they tell no secrets of 
the living, only of the dead — sometimes. 

Down around a bend he saw Mrs. Holmes and 
Hallet returning; with a new feeling he walked 
toward them. Hallet had a kerchief about his 
neck, and another in his hand that he was brand- 
ishing wildly. ‘"Mosquitoes,” he said, tersely; 
“they have followed us from that swamp back 
there, the little fiends!” 


GALEED. 


161 


‘‘And you?” Alison asked, turning to her. 

“Oh, they keep away from Mrs. Holmes as 
if she were poison,” complained Hallet, in an 
aggrieved way, at which the other two laughed. 
But it was a serious affair to popr Tom, all the 
more so from knowing he looked ridiculous. 

“You are tired,” said Alison, with an instinct- 
ive air of solicitude in his manner. She looked 
up quickly, noting the new tone. 

“ Yot much, only the wind has made me a little 
drowsy, I think.” 

“And when do you ever intend to rest?” It 
was not so much the words as it was the strange, 
new tone that again raised her eyes to his in a 
half-questioning way. But she made no reply, 
only stooped and sent a pebble skimming low 
over the water. 

“But you can not fling your weariness away 
so,” he remarked, with that same persistence she 
had at first noted in him, and coquetted with. 
“You must leave that tired look here by the sea, 
and absorb instead the rest that your work will 
need.” 

“ What makes you lay such stress on my well- 
being all at once?” she asked, directly. 

“ Why? Well, because I feel that your friends 
should lay stress on it.” 

She did not answer; did not even raise her eyes 
this time. Something in this new manner of his 
checked the careless, cynical words she would 
have uttered an hour before. Some assertive 
spirit, some vague strength had been given him 
11 


162 


• IN love’s domains. 


that felt itself in the right and wonld not be com- 
bated. Scarcely knowing why she did so, she 
found herself influenced by that unexpressed 
force, and she walked in silence beside him back 
to the others. 

She heard him tacitly class himself among 
her friends without any rebellion of her will that 
had seemed on the defensive against him for so 
many days past. Was she so tired with work 
and thought that she had no will left to surprise, 
or was she only careless. 

He did not know, and he felt stubbornly that 
he did not care, so far as it affected himself — that 
she should never drive him out of her ken again. 

Hallet, still flghting mosquitoes, had surren- 
dered the sun umbrella to Alison, and stalked 
along ahead of them as a sort of courier, his white 
kerchief still waving. 

“Who are you flirting with so outrageously?” 
called Grace. “Mosquitoes? Tell that to some 
other fellow’s sister! Mrs. Holmes, I’m sur- 
prised that you allow him to be so very giddy. 
No use making excuses. Just look through this 
glass toward that old pier and be ashamed of 
yourself.” 

Tom growlingly took the glass and growlingly 
handed it back. Sure enough, a party of girls, 
armed with Ashing tackle, were waving white 
handkerchiefs frantically in the direction of the 
group on the sands. They had mistaken Tom’s 
pantomime and thought the waving of his hands a 
signal to themselves. 


GALEED. 


163 


Amid the general laughter and the teasing of 
Grace they reembarked, and moved their boat 
slowly through the waters that had grown still 
in the light of the sun that was far aslant. 
Around a great bend they half drifted, first one 
and then another touching the oars lazily, while 
across the water from the fisher-girls came strains 
of ‘‘ Good-bye, my Lover, Good-bye.” 

The older jjeople, even the major, had talked 
themselves a little tired, and enjoyed the quiet 
that had fallen over the water. Tom’s eyes, 
despite mosquito bites, did persist in turning back 
to those forms on the old pier — masculine human 
nature, and twenty- two years of age! 

Grace, inspired no doubt by those other voices, 
began humming bits of song in an undertone, 
and then, emboldened a little by the silence that 
suggested attention, she gave a wider range to the 
indistinct bits, and in a voice really fine, and 
possessed of more expression than is generally 
given to youth, she sang “ Twickenham Ferry,” 
and passed from its brightness and jingle to 
quieter airs attuned to the silvery tones of the 
evening. 

Mrs. Holmes, in the bow, looked a little like 
the figure-head of a craft, her face straight ahead 
— only the warm curve of neck and cheek seen 
by the others. But even the soft outlining of 
drapery about the unconscious form had a new 
beauty to Alison as he watched her. He could 
not imagine her being anything but graceful — 
with the grace that does not depend on pose, but 


164 


IN' love’s domains. 


is innate in some bodies as expression is in some 
eyes. 

“You sing beautifully,” she said, turning to 
the girl. “Mr. Hallet, you should not neglect 
the cultivation of a voice like that.” 

“I am afraid to humor her in it,” he replied, 
“lest the music turn a master in our family, and 
I have a tyrannical fondness for being master 
myself.” 

“He is afraid I will be an opera-singer,” an- 
swered Grace; “that's what’s the matter with 
Hon — , I mean papa; and I will if I can get any 
influence from my friends to help me; some one of 
whom he has the very highest opinion. If Mrs. 
Holmes would only put in an oar — I mean a word, 
now and then, and be just a little nice to him, 
even flirt with him in moderation, you might flelp 
me to win the prize, for he is perfectly devoted to 
you.” 

“Just give me a chance to say that part of it 
for myself,” suggested her father. 

“I would,” continued the incorrigible, “but 
papa’s timidity is his strong point — oh, yes it is,” 
she insisted, in return to the laughter of the 
others; “mamma told me she had to do half the 
courting; she was like me, you know, and didn't 
mind it.” 

“No,” put in her brother; “I doubt if you 
would mind it.” , 

“But Fra Lippo knows that I can be very cor- 
rect,” she said, turning to him for proof. “He 
knows I can chaperon myself famously, and the 


GALEED. 


165 


Other girls as well, and he has seen me under — 
well, circumstances.” 

‘ ‘ And opposite a mirror, ’ ’ he added. 

Yes,” she said, with a sudden flash of memory 
and roguishness, ‘ ‘ and I remember where some- 
body’ s eyes wandered to in that mirror— but I 
won’t tell,” she added, quickly, as his hand was 
raised ever so slightly. 

“Oh, 3 ^es, you will,” remarked Tom, “girls 
always tell; so you had better speak out and get it 
off your conscience. And if it was Alison s eyes, 
I wish you would use your knowledge and unmask 
him to Mrs. Winans. I used to be a thing of 
beauty, and altogether lovely in her eyes, until 
she Ashed him out of the sea down here, and I 
have been sent to the shades ever since.” 

Tom was a big, manly-looking fellow, but his 
straight red hair, and his freckles, that would 
reach a degree of j)rominence startling to behold, 
rather debarred him from being classed among 
things of beauty. And in the impression caused 
by his ludicrous com]3laint, the subject of it was 
forgotten, unless by Grace, who was retrospective. 

“Don't you think it all very strange,” she con- 
tinued, ‘ ‘ our meeting there at Oyster Bay, and 
none of us knowing each other, and then meeting 
here and being such chums? Why, the girls and I 
wondered for days who Mrs. Holmes was; and 
when the Major and Mrs. Winans came, and we 
found she was an old friend of theirs, oh, how 
delighted I was,” she said, giving the flgure-head 
in the boat a little squeeze on the arm. “And 


1 ( 5(5 


m love’s domains. 


tlien there was Fra Lippo, who looked down on 
ns for just two days, and then left us in a halo of 
delicious doubt, and a sort of Captain Kidd 
atmosphere.” 

‘‘ Are you not getting a little mixed?” suggested 
Tom. “ Fra Lippo, Captain Kidd, and Mr. Alison, 
you should sue her for defamation of character.” 

Ko, lam not mixed. Captain Kidd really did 
belong to this island once, and would appear and 
disappear in the most delightfully mysterious 
way, and leave treasure buried in the coves.” 

‘ ‘ But Mr. Alison leaves no buried treasure on 
our shores does he?” queried Mrs. Holmes, with- 
out turning her head. 

‘‘No,” he answered, as carelessly; “I have 
come to find it.” 

“And you find us,” supplemented Grace — 
“there is a compliment for us, if we want to twist 
our imagination to fit it.” 

“And yours is equal to the emergency,” 
laughed her father; “you should try to utilize it 
in romance writing.” 

“I will when Fra Lippo wants a literary part- 
ner,” said Grace, audaciously. “But until then, 
I will have to conjure up romances, or sing only 
for my own amusement.” 

“And for our pleasure,” said Mrs. Holmes, 
kindly. 

“You are a good soul,” said Grace, appreci- 
atively; “you always put one in good humor 
with one’s self, and I shall xiay you in the best 
coin I’ve got.” 


GALEED. 


167 


‘‘ And make her sorry she spoke,” added Tom 
with brotherly candor, and a last glance at the 
nymphs on the old pier as their boat veered 
around a point, and gave them new scenes, new 
lights and shadows in the water. But Grace 
unheeding the irony of the speech gave to Mrs. 
Holmes her promised pay in song. 

In the semi-circle of the harbor, lay the little 
town ahead of them, backed by its rolling hills 
over which the sun shot lances of light that spar- 
kled flame-like on western windows. 

Away out the light-house shone white in its 
setting of shimmering opal, and around them 
silver and rose seemed to bathe in the ever trem- 
ulous surface of the bay, all change, all glitter 
and glimmer; but all peace was the impression 
given by that minor key of color on which the 
giiT s voice fell in unison, echoing the wistfulness 
of ‘ ‘ Some Day ’ ’ with a pathos that left at least 
one person in the boat touched by the meaning 
in it. 

“ Our hearts — our hands shall meet — some day.” 

With the plaintiveness of that half -hope, and 
the music of it there was ever after to Alison's 
ears coupled the soft dip of caressing oars— the 
fresh atmosphere of the sea — and the face of a 
woman drooping low over the bow of the boat; 
was it only to watch her own broken image in 
the waves? or was it with the weight of certainty 
that her life was lived — was put beyond the pale 
of longing hands, or the endearing of any heart 
that would bring with it content. 


168 


IN love’s domains. 


The boat grated on the sand, and as Alison 
stoj)ped to put up the meadow bars, Mrs. Holmes 
spoke to him in a slightly constrained way: 

“I thank yon for that implied friendship,” she 
said. “After all, one can not afford to ignore 
friendly intents; life holds too few of them. 
That sounds selfish, though I do not feel so. I 
think the evening and Gracie’ s music has left an 
atmosiDhere that breathes of peace and good-will 
toward our neighbors; it is resistless.” 

And thus the evening fell, and two natures, 
someway, without a visible cause, left a barrier 
buried in the sands, or washed in the waves of 
the far shore. 


CHAPTER YII. 

Am I not like to thee? 

The like may sway the like. 

E. B. Browning. 

“Yes, if I had known you personally instead 
of knowing yon by letter we would never have 
known each other so well,” she said, a few days 
later, when they had got a little used to this more 
even tenor of acquaintanceship. 

“ That is rather an anomalous statement, is it 
not? It makes one curious as to the reason.” 

“ I am not sure there is a reason, unless it is 
that — have you ever read Dandet’s article on 
Rochefort?” 

“Unless it is that — have I ever read Baudet?” 


GALEED. 


169 


he repeated. ‘‘That sounds like an attempt at 
Dutch dialect.” 

And then they laughed, happy people — as sym- 
pathetic people laugh at such little things; just 
as it is the little waves that catch the arrows of 
the sun’s flame and give back to us far-reaching 
vistas of glory. 

“I mean that I may explain by an illustration 
of his. Rochefort writing under his own name 
was constrained and conventional; but for a lark 
he wrote some articles under the name of a friend, 
when it was discovered that once left unbound by 
the sense of his own personality he was enabled 
to write matter with so much daring and orig- 
inality, that at once, from an unknown journal- 
ist, he became a personage.” 

“And you think personal knowledge would 
have fettered the thoughts you expressed to me 
through ink and paper?” 

“Certainly. I could not have looked squarely 
in your face and been so presumptuous as to And 
fault with or criticise your work, so I took the 
mean advantage of doing it and kee]3ing myself 
hidden. You see, sometimes one’s imagination 
needs food for exx)ression, and in a moment of 
that mental desperation, I seized on your poor 
book, dissected it, and advocated a higher 
standard of work, even though the ones you 
had were higher than I could have kept up to 
myself.” 

“I think not,” he said decidedly, “ your ideals 
are higher than mine; I know it because those 


170 


IN love’s domains. 


letters of yours brought back to me the purer 
ones of a half-forgotten boyhood, the sort of 
ideals that grow rather dim and rusty in our later 
^ays— so far away that our eyes can barely see 
their forms.” 

‘ ‘So long as one can see them at all there is liojje, ’ ’ 
she answered slowly. “ It is only when they are 
dashed down in ruins about one* s feet that hope 
dies out and despair takes its place, and nothing 
supersedes that.” 

“ If I said so you would tell me that resigna- 
tion could helj) to do so, and in its wake would 
come peace,” he said, drifting into her own man- 
ner of speech. They were silent for a little while 
looking out over the meadows and the bay. She 
said nothing, and he, watching her, wished that 
just for once he could see a light in her eyes 
that was not transitory, a content that was not 
fleeting. 

“You have known those broken ideals so well?” 
he said at last. “You are young to speak with 
that conviction as of experience.” 

‘ ‘ I have had much that the world would call 
exj)erience,” she answered in that same low, 
slow way, “if by the word you mean enduring 
through many phases of life and thought — ah, 
the thoughts! Do you know, I think it is the 
thoughts and tlieir effects that are hardest to live 
through; harder even than the realities are the 
scourges of the imagination.” 

“To the imaginative, yes,” he said, his eyes 
turning away from her face that had grown pained 


GALEED. 


171 


as if from memories. “Do you know,” he went 
on, ‘ ‘ I think you have lived too much alone, 
too much in yourself. You have given only 
the careless side of your nature to your social 
friends.” 

She smiled again at that. “I give them only 
what they want,” she answered. “In society 
people are acquaintances, seldom friends — I found 
it so, but it depends much on oneself, I su]3pose. 
If one has nothing to give in exchange one can 
exjDect nothing, and when society and I were on 
bowing terms those broken ideals had fallen into 
a chaos about me, and over them I could not see 
very clearly, and so — well, I found an old house 
in North Carolina, and an old servant who loved 
me — a good exchange I have never regretted.” 

Her eyes wide-earnest turned to him as she 
spoke. How clear they were! How easily asso- 
ciated with all ideas of purity! He thought in 
a disjointed way of white violets with the dew 
still on them, of summer seas in the virginity of 
dawn. He could imagine her as stepping with 
untainted garments from out that moral wreck 
that had so nearly encompassed her. He could 
see her so clearly back in that old home trying to 
gather up the broken threads of girlish life over 
again, and through all the heart aches, yet the 
wistful determination of sufficiency unto herself 
— an unsiDoken vow of isolation that no sympathy 
had been strong enough to break. 

Comparisons are odious often, but something 
akin to them came uncalled to him as he watched 


172 


IX love’s domains. 


her. He had known so many of the loves of 
life, and this was only a friendship; yet back into 
the past the rest crowded as into a night. And 
of himself, some words of the book his mother 
had trusted in came to him; some words of ‘‘a 
light that shineth in a dark place until the day 
dawn, and the day star arise in yonr hearts.” 

Scarcely even gathering his impressions into 
collected thought, he yet felt dimly that the dark- 
ness had been long, and that the day star that 
rose sweetest and clearest in the hearts of men 
was friendship. 

Her beauty had not appealed to him as it had 
done at first when she had seemed alternately a 
Francesca and a Mona Lisa. The story he had 
heard that day on the beach had given such a dif- 
ferent tinge to his interest in her. 

He could scarcely tell the color of her eyes, 
though he saw always the sadness in them that 
the laughing mouth tried so often to contradict. 
He found himself wishing that Blanche knew 
her, at least he told himself that he wished it. 
And then again he could not think of any other 
personality taken into that half compact of theirs 
without jarring on the tone of it. 

Into the old burial ground of the village they 
strolled on their first walk alone. 

‘ ‘ I can seldom pass one, especially an old one, 
without going in,” she said, in extenuation of her 
wandering feet. ‘‘ You see, at my old home many 
of the tombs are very old and very picturesque. 
All the people who cared most for me are under 


GALEED. 


173 


the myrtles there, and the myrtle means rest to 
me north or south.” 

“The myrtles mean love, do they not?” he 
asked. “ I think they are given that meaning by 
the poets.” 

“The poets are wiser than we plodders,” she 
returned; “they know that love and death go 
hand in hand, so they give the significance of the 
affections to the vine of the graves.” 

“That seems wrong,” he contested; “love 
should have some symbol of life, of unchangeable 
existence.” 

“You think so,” she smiled; “that is the 
desire of us grasping human beings. But the 
Fates know better.” 

“The Fates, you believe in them?” 

“ In the Fates, or the gods, or whatever rules; 
they know that if love was made unchangeable 
on earth, undying, that iDaradise would have no 
allurements left for humanity.” 

“ It means so much to you?” he asked abruptly, 
surprised at her decided statement, and feeling in 
a queer sort of way that love must be known to 
be analyzed from that point of view, and it gave 
a bit of sharpness to his tone as he said, “it 
means so much to you?” 

“ I think it means God,” she answered, “and 
that only glimpses are given to souls here. 
Then death, or change, comes. But after a soul 
has known the fullness of love on earth, God 
must always after that be nearer; the promises of 
Heaven must mean as much more, because the 


174 


IN love’s domains. 


eyes liave seen, and the heart has in part proved 
the prophecies.” . 

“ And they conld ever imagine her an atheist?” 
he thought, with a little impatience, ‘‘but after 
all they can not know her as I do.” 

But close on that conviction, with its vague, 
sweet tinge of possession, there came a somber 
wonder if some one some time had taught her that 
meaning of God, if, after ail, it was that change that 
had left her eyes red. There seemed to be nothing 
more to be said. Her words had ended that sub- 
ject, but to him, at least, the words were suggest- 
ive of much thought, and in silence he stooped to 
gather some of the azure starred blossoms that 
had led him to revelations. 

“ So here I have found you,” said the chirpy 
voice of Mrs. Winans behind them; “ we saw you 
through the gateway. What a place to bring up 
in! and upon my word, gathering myrtles with 
Mrs. Holmes.” 

“No, I gather them alone, and I give them to 
you,” he returned, and the old lady wore them in 
pleased appreciation of the attention Alison never 
failed to give her, and, wearing them, never 
guessed how the blood had quickened in the lin- 
gers that plucked them, or how strange his voice 
sounded in his own ears as he answered her, in 
tones from which the earnestness was dropped 
with a sense of loss. 

“It is like falling back to earth,” was the 
thought that came to him as he hailed the 
major, made a whip of willow branches for 


GALEED. 


175 


Grace, and walked back to the house with Mrs. 
Winans. 

Even to himself he did not think to say from 
where. 

But that evening when some of them were plan- 
ning an excursion for the next day, he said to her: 

‘‘We must try to find some place with life and 
light in it. Our first walk alone was to a grave- 
yard, if one was superstitious they would no 
doubt think that an evil augury.” 

“lam superstitious,” she replied, “but I am 
not oppressed with evil forebodings because of 
that.” 

“You! Judith?” said Mrs. Winans, in aston- 
ishment. “ I never imagined you superstitious.” 

“Perhaps because we have never happened to 
speak of the subject,” returned Mrs. Holmes, 
quietly; “but lean imagine no religion in the 
mind of one who has no superstition!” 

“Why, Judith! what a singular view to take,” 
said Mrs Winans, a little weakly; while Alison 
stood looking straight out at the few lights glit- 
tering on the night waters, but his ears always 
open to the sound of her voice. 

“ I do not think it so curious, it seems only 
natural, at least to me it is,” she replied; ‘‘the 
two can not be separated; each is a belief in the 
supernatural — in the power of things unseen by 
human eyes.” 

“But hang it, little captain!” burst out the 
major, “ideas of that sort smack so strongly of 
the table-tipping order of things whose devotees 


176 


IN love’s domains. 


have to hunt around so often for bail in the dis- 
trict courts. Don’t muddle your brain with that 
sort of thing. ’ ’ 

“ I don’t believe I am very much muddled, and 
as to the spiritualists’ religion, I have never been 
in one of their churches or iilaces of meeting in 
my life, yet if they believe in the Christ, as I 
understand they do, what matter if He is termed 
by them a medium, or the Son of God? It does 
not alter the fact of the message which Christians 
believe He brought from His Father, and without 
superstition we never would have believed that 
message.” 

‘‘ But Judith,” remonstrated Mrs. Winans; ‘4t 
is not superstition that gives belief in the Bible 
and the coming of the Son, it is Christian 
faith.” 

“ But that is no more proof, it is no more tangi- 
ble than the thing you call suiDerstition,” returned 
the younger woman. ‘‘And somewhere in the 
book of Hebrews there is a definition of that word 
faith. It says: ‘ Faith is the substance of things 
hoped for — the evidence of things not seen.’ 
Xow, what else is superstition, except that it 
believes it sees?” 

“ I really can not argue on that or any other 
question,” confessed Mrs. Winans. “I always 
remember next day the things I might have said 
on my side. But superstition has always seemed 
so weak to me.” 

“Yet many people who are not weak have 
believed in the supernatural. You see,” she 


GALEED. 


177 


said, turning half laughing to Alison, “I have 
quite a line of ancestors who have lived and lis- 
tened to the Banshees in the bogs of Ireland, to 
say nothing of seeing the ‘ wee folks who dance 
in the moonlight o’ nights and put spells on the 
yield of the best milch cow ’ for a prank, some- 
times. Oh, yes, it would be line times that be 
come to the world if one didn’t stand by their 
forefathers.” 

“Nonsense!” laughed the major, at the touch 
of brogue given her words. “Your father was of 
English and French parentage.” 

“Yes, poor papa! I think it was the mixture 
of antagonistic blood in him that always kept him 
harrassed so, either for himself or other people. 
His French impulse was always kicking over the 
traces of his English caution and getting him into 
discredit with himself.” 

“But that gives you no Irish blood,” said the 
major. 

“And do you think I only had one parent?” 
she retorted. “ Where would I get the name of 
Judith, if not from an Irish mother?” 

“Yes, it is the one thing about you that does 
not seem quite right,” said Grace, snuggling up 
to her in what the major termed an insinuating 
sort of way. “ Judith Latante? Yes, that sounds 
well enough, but the first Judith wsls a sort of 
blood and thunder executioner — a melodramatic 
character. Now, you are not a bit like that.” 

‘ ‘ But you see they did not know what I might 
be capable of when I was born,” smiled Judith; 

12 


178 


IN love’s domains. 


‘ ‘ and you do not know yet, because I have not 
died.” 

‘‘Judith was not melodramatic,” remarked 
Alison; “ the book is a tragic poem.” 

“That sounds nicer than my idea,” assented 
Grace. “Yes, I could fancy you either tragic or 
poetical. I remember when I first saw you; I 
thought you looked like Lucille.” 

Alison wondered if she impressed every one 
with that likeness to ideal characters — all so 
widely different — yet all linked to herself with 
the subtle bonds of beauty or spirituality, by that 
something that makes us see the thoughts of 
poets of the past, materialized and looking at us 
clearly through the- eyes of some present, 

“ I think you could live Judith’s life,” he said 
to her as Grace sauntered down with the major 
for some cigars in the village, and Mrs. Winans 
was chatting inside the parlor with the landlady, 

“You think so? But Judith was a model of 
piety. I am not pious.” 

“No, but you are religious. You show that in 
all you do and say, in all your influence on others. 
Please do not smile. I mean what I say. I know 
why you doubt, but some time, if you would but 
listen, I could feel like speaking to you of that.” 

“It does not matter, why should you?” 

Neither seemed to think then how that remark 
of hers granted an understanding of wlial^ his 
thoughts were, that first subtle touch of a spirit, 
all ages have been shaped by. 

“Because I know that, in several ways, I am in 


GALEED. 


179 


a false light to you. All of us are bad enough. But 
I would like you to know that — well, many 
things. I — have you been told that I am to be 
married before very long?’ ’ 

“No,” she said. Only that — no comment, no 
question, and drew a white shawl from about her 
waist up about her throat. 

He did not know whether that monosyllable 
meant unconcern, or whether her own bonds had 
made even the subject distasteful. 

‘ ‘ I thought perhai:)s Mr. Hallet had mentioned 
it to you. He knows the lady. I thought I 
wanted you to know.” 

“Yes.” 

It was a kind assent, a sort of permission to go 
on. Bat it was not the sort of response needed 
to make a man very communicative; it was a gra- 
cious tolerance. 

She was sitting with one arm around the post 
of the verandah. Her face leaning against the 
white wood was outlined in prolile perfectly clear 
in the starlight. So close, his outstretched hand 
could have touched knee or shoulder. Yet all at 
once she seemed as far removed from him in spirit 
as the light-house down the bay, where her eyes 
were looking. 

“ Because your influence, your letters made me 
think of those bonds more seriously than either 
she or I had thought of them before,” he con- 
tinued; “ and I w^anted you to know that if earn- 
est happiness ever comes to us, it will have been 
through your good help to me.” 


180 


IN love’s domains. 


To you and your — wife?” She changed neither 
her glance nor her tone, her face as expressionless 
as if she had not heard. 

“Yes,” to both. “ Because you gave me the 
desire to be worthy of a wife’s regard, and that 
is, I think, one of the first steps toward happi- 
ness for tw^o people; do you not think so? It 
means beginning life over again, with a laudable 
object to work for.” 

She did not reply to that query; w^omen are 
curious compounds. It is said of them that they 
never care to hear a love story, unless it is of a 
love for themselves. Her silence brought that 
idea flitting across his mind. But it w^as such an 
incongruity wdien applied to her, that he dismissed 
it with a half impatience tow^ard himself. It 
would not have apx)eared such an improbable 
thought of any other woman. But of her! 

He wondered if she w^as going to say anything, 
or w-hether she w^as too little interested for com- 
ment. Directly, how^ever, she si3oke, and both 
the words and her tone had a curious ring. 

“Then you have discussed me, discussed my 
letters and thoughts with— your wife?” 

“ Yourself, yes; the subjects of our letters, no. 
Their effects are all she lias seen. But why do 
you say ‘ wife ’ in that manner? She is not my 
wife until we are mariied.” 

“Yo!” and she smiled a little — not a very 
mirthful smile. “Does the bond of marriage 
depend, then, on ceremony alone?” 

The question gave him a little shock— a queer 


GALEED. 


181 


feeling as if some one was sitting in judgment on 
his emotions that should be holy, and that had 
been only amusing — that had vibrating through 
it ever the empty tinkle of cymbals, not the 
music of nature attuned by the touch of divinity. 

Why was it that so often she had the faculty 
of showing him with a word, a glance, some lack 
in himself that had never made itself so plain 
through his own visage? Too subtle for analysis 
were the impressions borne to him by that tone. 
He knew only that they sent the blood with a 
little shiver to his heart at a wild, half-formed 
thought of what marriage might mean to a man, 
a marriage such as her words suggested. For a 
moment he closed his eyes at the mere idea; but 
back of the shut lids there was photographed a 
clearly-marked profile of a serious face — a face 
with eyes as pure as the stars — eyes that looked 
at him from so great a height — and just then it 
seemed as if the light in their depths must shine 
always through his life. 

All those mad fancies chased through his brain 
— all witcheries unbound by the closeness of the 
cool face with its full red lips against which her 
finger rested ever so slightly. All at once he felt 
a blunt inclination to say: ‘‘Why are you at 
times so beautiful to me? or, being beautiful, 
why do you stand so alone from other women, 
and on a iDedestal a man' s arms dare not touch? 
Be a little more human; faulty enough to under- 
stand imperfections in others.” 

But fast as those unspeakable thoughts flitted 


182 


IN love’s domains. 


through his brain, yet the silence between them 
appeared endless, at least to him, and when he 
spoke none would imagine that his unuttered 
thoughts were: “Give me your hands; lean to- 
ward me! For once let me look at you from the 
pillow of your breast! ” 

But he said instead: “Marriage should mean 
more than the mere ceremony your tone decries. 
But to look on oneself as a part in the ideal mar- 
riage, one must first feel himself worthy — he must 
feel purified from the reekings of the world. I 
am sadly lacking in that excellence.” 

“Does she think so?” The question was evi- 
dently one of impulse, for in an instant she 
added: “Pardon me! do not answer that. It was 
a thoughtless question; it is nothing to me.” 

“ But I would -rather think it is something to 
you,” he said, quietly; “that is if you do not 
object. If you could only make up your mind 
to give me even a little of the notice personally 
that you used to give to my w^ork.” 

“I give it to your work still,” she said, in a 
kind tone. ‘ ‘ But I think I felt from your letters 
that you were more alone, that you needed help 
and interest more than I find you do.” 

“I do need them,” he said, rising, and walking 
to the far end of the verandah. A moment he 
stood there, and then came back, stopping and 
looking down at her. She had not moved; what 
a faculty she had of making a statue of herself 
in more ways than one! 

“I think,” he continued, “that I shall always 


GALEED. 


183 


need them, and to-night I have a wish that you 
were either my sister or my brother. Can you 
understand that?’ ’ 

“ Yes, I can;” and for the first time she looked 
up at him frankly. 

‘ ‘ If you w^ere, do you know wdiat I would w’ant 
to do to-night?” he asked, “to go with you some- 
where from the world, to let the wind-sprites skim 
our boat out of the ken of the commonplace, and 
into the realms where I have an idea you belong; 
on a higher plane than I can climb to. But fail- 
ing in which I have sometimes a strong desire, 
an unworthy desire to lift you down from. Can 
you understand that, also^ ” 

How much one can live in an instant! Ages 
seemed to revolve past him as he stood there 
gazing into those serious, startled eyes, and real- 
ized that his impulse had got the better of him and 
he had said the truth to her; but one of the truths 
that should be denied, not confessed. Someway 
he felt always that he had been forced into it; 
something in her presence always impelled him to 
truths whether they counted for or against him; 
and the depth of feeling in his tones expressed as 
much as the words themselves. 

After a little it was she who broke the silence; 
there was no pretense of not knowing. 

“Yes, I can understand it,” she said slowly, 
“and you are right when you say it is unworthy 
of you, of myself. What have I done, or been, 
that you feel like speaking to me so? ” 

The inquiry was made without embarrassment; 


184 


IN love’s domains. 


evidently she said truly when she had claimed 
wealth of experience in life. It had taught her in 
most things to be mistress of herself. And yet at 
that last question he almost felt that there were 
tears in her voice. It made him feel like a brute. 
Why did she not get angry and cut him as he 
deserved? he asked himself, savagely. 

‘‘You have done or been nothing that has not 
been right in my eyes,” he said; “ be sure always 
of that.” 

“ Then why — ” 

“ I am not sure I can tell you, or that any one 
would understand,” he answered rapidly, half- 
recklessly. “ But you have all my respect, all 
my regard, even while you make me forget all 
things conventional. With you I have such a 
strong desire to be only a man, to think of you 
as only a woman, to set the world beyond us, to 
speak to you thoughts as one would tell them to 
one’s own conscience, all the best and the worst, 
told with all truth.” 

“And the object? ” 

How cool she was! he thought; would a volcano 
ever change that self-possession? Yet he knew 
she did feel, he knew she was touched by all earn- 
estness, and that knowledge helped him. 

“ The object I think is a little like that which 
sends penitents to priests. ’ ’ 

She raised her hand ever so slightly at that. 

“Don’t!” she said uncertainly; “ you scarcely 
know me. I am far from the thoughts of priest- 
hood.” 


GALEED. 


185 


“ Perhaps, -but you compel thoughts such as 
the priests strive for. You bring me closer to 
nature that reasons from the heart and feelings, 
not from the intellect. You may resent my 
speaking like this to you to-night. If you judge 
from the social standpoint, I am presuming to you 
and not worth the trust of the girl I told you 
about. But gauging myself from the origin' of 
this half -confession, I know different. You help 
me to be more worthy the trust when you compel 
these truths.” 

She made no comment, and after a little he 
added: You are offended, you think me all 

unworthy?’ ’ 

“I do not know,” she said at last, ‘‘I am a 
slow thinker, I am trying to follow those seem- 
ingly incompatible statements of yours. No, I 
can not think you all unworthy; if you were, you 
would be less honest. I am willing to believe 
that those unworthy thoughts of yours are strays 
of impulse; they do not belong to you — I mean 
to the best that is in you.” 

“You are better to me than I deserve,” he 
said. 

“ Then, if you want me to judge by the heart, 
instead of the world's standard, you must try to 
deserve the best. That would be the highest 
compliment friendship can hope for.” 

Just then Grace and the major returned, arm in 
arm, from the village. 

“ It is a lovely evening for a walk,” she called, 
as she came up across the sward; “you should 


186 


IN^ love’s domains. 


not stick so lazily to that porch,” and then she 
ran up the steps and went over to Mrs. Holmes. 

“ How still you two are?” she said, looking 
from one to the other, ‘‘ as if you had not stirred 
or spoken since we left. Do be more companion- 
able,” and then she slipped her arm around the 
shoulder in the white shawl. “ Do you know, 
Fra Lippo, I think you should write a story about 
this lovely old place and have Queen Judith here 
illustrate it. The surroundings are enough to 
inspire even me. .The walk from the village in 
this starlight is a continuous lover’s lane — just 
the place for romances. I felt tempted to make 
love to the major, but he wouldn’t let me; told 
me to go ahead through the stile and tell him if 
that was the one where the step went down. 
Just think of that for gallantry! A place sure, 
you know, to be marked with kisses of a summer’ s 
evening. I was wondering how many love stories 
that stile had counted, and major told me not to 
be silly.” 

‘‘ Good reason to,” growled the major, who had 
just reached the head of the steps. “A girl 
expecting one to calculate imaginary kisses over 
a turn-stile — especially other fellows’ kisses. 
Have a cigar, Alison?’ ’ 

“ Now, if the real Fra Lippo was here he could 
have counted quite a number of his own, could he 
not, Mr. Alison? In that respect you’re ever so 
much behind your namesake; oh yes you are, you 
sober sides! Still, papa did tell me something 
interesting about you this morning before he left, 


GALEED. 


187 


and I am so glad. It's so romantic even to know- 
one’ s friends are in love, even if one is not 
oneself, and Tom says I’m too young. Is it a 
secret? If so, I won’t tell, but I know her. 
Didn’t she ever speak to you of me? Is it a 
secret?'’ 

“I think not, here,” remarked Alison, ‘4f it 
were you would divulge it in the very act of pro- 
mising to keep it. It is no secret from Mrs. 
Holmes, if that is what you mean.” 

Isn’t that lovely?” asked the girl, giving Mrs. 
Holmes a little, appreciative hug. ‘ ‘ A real love 
story to interest ourselves in. That is better than 
the vague, supposititious romances of a turn- 
stile.” 

And then Mrs. Winans called her, and she 
lugged the major in to be interviewed by his little 
superior officer for their long absence. 

The other two, halting just an instant, followed. 
But in that pause he said to her; 

“You are better to my erratic moods than I 
deserve. No one could be like you.” 

And she answered: “ I hope no one ever will 
be. Curb those erratic strays of impulse for her 
sake and your own. No other person’s opinion 
should enter into your lives.” 


188 


IN love’s domains. 


CHAPTER yill. 

And hold the torch out while the winds are rough 
Between our faces to cast light on each ? ' 

I drop it at thy feet, I can not teach 
My hand to hold my spirit so far off. 

E. B. Browning. 

Whatever thoughts the night had held for her, 
she met him in the morning with more lightness 
of manner than they had known the evening 
before. 

With a pair of oars over her shoulder, and a 
sketch-book in her hand, she met him at the porch 
steps in the late morning. 

“ I am waiting for Grace,” she explained; “ we 
are going to that wooded point out across the water 
there. I have learned its Indian name, Musham- 
mack.” 

“I was talking yesterday to some half-breed 
Indians who live back here in the country,” he 
remarked. “You may find some interesting types 
among them for sketches. If you care to go I 
will take you some day.” 

Grace returned in time to hear the proffer. 

“ I wonder if for that promise for the future he 
expects an invitation to go with us to-day?” she 
queried, in an audible aside. 

Mrs. Holmes dropped her head and looked at 
the girl quizzically from under her brows. 


GALEED. 


189 


“I wonder?” slie echoed, while Alison stood 
half-laughing, awaiting the verdict. 

‘‘ Yes, let us take him,” suggested Grace. ‘'He 
won’t be in your way, you can sketch just the 
same, and it is so much nicer to have a cavalier. 
I think so, though you are too independent to 
need one. But ‘ Arnon ’ may prove too much for 
me to read. I may want to gossip. You will not 
care to be bothered with me, so you had better 
take him; it will be money in your pocket.” 

“Miss Grace, you are as much of a politician 
as you are a musician,” said Alison at her elbow. 
“ An argument like that should persuade anyone 
of my utility. But she still looks dubious, try 
again.” 

‘ ‘ Of course little captain will take you,” said the 
ma j or through the window. ‘ ‘ I am taking the wife 
for a drive over to East Hampton or I would go. 
They need some one along, so let me delegate you 
instead of myself.” 

“ But we really do not need a cavalier, major,” 
protested Mrs. Holmes, smilingly. 

“Yes you do, a rolling pig might upset your 
boat.” 

“ I can swim.” 

“A warrior of the Montauk tribe might try 
to kidnap you in the woods.” 

“ I can run.” 

“ I rather think,” suggested Alison, “ that some 
one will be needed to cut the leaves of novels, and 
sharpen pencils for sketches.” 

“ I have nothing strong enough to put against 


190 


IN love’s domains. 


that argument,” laughed Mrs. Holmes. “If 
Grace will see to an extra slice of bread in the 
lunch-basket you can come along.” 

So they went down to the shore together, the 
three. But after getting the oars in the boat 
and arranging their books and lunch-basket, he 
said : 

“I really had not thought of going with you 
until Miss Grace mentioned it. So if you would 
rather not have your little sociable encroached 
upon, I will hunt another point of the compass. 
I had this portfolio intending to make a break 
for the woods, and write to day, so — ” 

“Oh you deserter!” began Grace. But Mrs. 
Holmes only remarked, brusquely, “get in,” 
and then as he shoved off the boat and did so, 
she added, “no, I will do the rowing, that is 
why I come in a small boat. I like the exercise.” 

“ Yes— going out,” remarked Grace, ironically, 
“but our landlord said it took hard work to 
bring a boat back from that point when the tide 
is ebbing; I didn’t dare mention it when on shore 
for fear of offending our captain, and being left 
ashore. But my prime reason for suggesting an 
escort was, that I might be certain of getting 
home for my supper.” 

The captain just turned her head for one with- 
ering glance at the confessor, and then went on 
rowing with the strong, flexible wrist movement 
that Alison noted and commended in silence. 
The slow color crept to her face as she sent the 
light boat evenly over the water. That bit of pink 


GALEED. 


191 


in her cheeks took from her the coolness of the 
night before. She looked so much more human. 
And Alison, having just posted a long letter to 
Blanche, one written under the influence of their 
conversation in the starlight, and therefore an 
earnest one, had within him a sense of duty done 
that allowed him as a reward the luxury of 
to-day’s indulgence. 

He was very quiet, content only to watch her 
and remember her words of last night. Just 
once he addressed her directly, and then in a 
rather abrupt way. 

‘ ‘ How did you know who I was when you saw 
me that day in the dining-room?’ ’ 

He did not call her by name, but she answered 
at once, granting quick understanding of his 
meaning. 

“ There was a very bad wood- cut of you in one 
of the Hew York dailies a few weeks before, nat- 
urally I looked at it, and there happened to be 
enough likeness to recognize you by.” 

That was all, there was no further comment. 
It had puzzled him often to remember that glance 
across the tables, and at last his curiosity had 
prompted the query. 

Up on the point of Mushammack they climbed, 
and from it the reach of water with its wooded 
bits jutting out into it, and the village away 
around the curve, and the flelds in distant patches 
showing like a snow-fall in their decking of white 
daisies, and the shimmer of the waves below, and 
the scent of the near pines in the scrubby wood 


192 


IN. love’s domains. 


back of them — it was all so fresh, so sweet with 
the breath of late June, that it put summer-time 
in the flood as one gazed. 

“There are some delightfully stubborn corners 
of the world that refuse to be civilized,” said 
Mrs. Holmes, drawing in great breaths of the salt 
air, “and I am glad to find so many of them 
around this end of the island.” 

“Yes,” answered Alison, “the original growth 
of oak clings as closely to the soil as the original 
owners. I was surprised to find a village of Mon- 
tauk descendants still farming and fishing on 
their old hunting-grounds so near the harbor. 
Some of them are of remarkably pure blood, and 
their somber eyes always seem to regard our race 
as interlopers, although they have groAvn too dig- 
nified to discuss the question with us of late 
years.” 

“They look witchy to me,” acknowledged 
Grace. “ I met one of the women on the road with 
a basket yesterday, and thought her a gypsy. I was 
cogitating whether or not to ask her to tell my 
fortune, but one look in her eyes when we came 
closer ujiset that idea. She was only a little 
taller than I, but she seemed to look down on me 
from immeasurable heights, and I collapsed, as it 
were. I have scarcely recovered my self-assur- 
ance as yet.” 

Mrs. Holmes said nothing that would lead him 
to think that she ever remembered the interview 
of last evening. She was once more the captain 
of the major. She was enjoying the morning, the 


GALEED. 


193 


air, the surroundings, with the vim of impressions 
new born, stoiDping to analyze nothing, just con- 
tent to exist and enjoy. 

‘ ‘ I think I have a bit of Indian in my own blood, ’ ’ 
she remarked, as she settled herself with her back 
against a tree to sketch the little town in the 
circle of the bay; “the wild woods always attract 
me, and this point, with its Indian name, brought 
me out here, though I am sure its power would not 
have been so compelling had its name been Daw- 
son’ s Point or Jenkins’ Woods; it is the sympathy 
with the Indian nature, reaching toward their 
names.” 

“Their names are an awful jumble,” protested 
Grace. “ I can’t see any beauty in them.” 

“That is because you do not learn their mean- 
ings,” answered Alison; “most of them are very 
poetical — none are so insipid as ours that have 
superseded them. Do you know that to the most 
of them the milky way is called the way of the 
birds?’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Why the way of the birds?’ asked Grace, and 
Mrs. Holmes went on sketching, while their escort 
told them of the old idea, that the soul of our 
human dead took the form of a white bird, and so 
flew to the happy hunting-ground. And that the 
brood so loosed from prison, flew upward, upward 
until their wings felt of that air path leading to 
the great gate, and the light of the stars, shining 
on their snowy breasts, made a great glory in the 
nights, and so it was called the ‘ way of the 
birds.’ ” 


13 


194 


IX love’s domains. 


That and many other bits of Indian history and 
mythology he told them, with the fishing and 
hunting-grounds of the Alontauks spread around 
them, as the territory of many of tlie scenes. 

It all seemed so natural that they should dis- 
cuss those superstitions that arose from the 
untrained souls of those children of nature. They 
were so out of and above the world, there between 
the wood and the water, where the porpoise— 
rolling pigs — splashed and turned in the sunlight. 
And like three children let loose, they ran races 
along the sands, when the books and pencils grew 
heavy in the hands, and the fresh winds called 
them. And then Mrs. Holmes, with some pretty 
pink shells as trophies, again climbed up over 
the point, and from the wood above, could see the 
other two away along the beach, Grace filling both 
her own pockets and her escort’s with the bits of 
shell or pebble that caught her eye. How well 
they looked together, she thought, he so tall, so 
dark; she so girlish and fair. They had sat down 
on the bow of the boat, and Grace was emptying 
her treasures into his hat, and evidently sorting 
them. They made a pretty summer picture; and 
again she picked up pencil and paper, and rapidly 
sketching, caught the outlines of the two figures, 
and then like a flash came the memory of that 
other day by the shore, and another blonde head 
that had leaned so near to his own, and she threw 
the tablet and pencil from her, and laid down in a 
tired fashion on the grass, her head on her arm. 
She fell to wondering if that other girl who was to 


GALEED. 


195 


be Ms wife had blonde hair, or was she dark? was 
she gentle and homelike, or was she proud and 
stately? 

She had not thought of it the night before. 
She bad known only a little shock and then a 
strange wonder in her mind as he told her first of 
his intended marriage, and almost in the next 
breath that declaration of interest, that want of 
herself. She could almost hear the thrill in his 
tones as he had said: 

“Can you understand that, too?” 

Did she understand? Did he even understand 
himself as yet? She tried to think as she lay 
there, why did he feel the want of other compan- 
ionship when he had his betrothed? The thought 
of fickleness entered her mind, but it did not 
belong to his eyes as she had known them, and 
she found herself whispering a rebellious “no” 
to the grass and the pink shells close beside her. 

There was a half wish in her heart that there 
were no bonds of the future about him. She 
could never associate the idea of happiness with 
bonds of any kind. 

That was no doubt a narrow view to take of it — 
a prejudiced view taken from the standard of her 
own experience. But he had been so frank with 
her — so evidently with a desire to be honest, and 
through it there had been that minor chord of 
feeling that asked understanding — that she won- 
dered why it was all so. Did those bonds grow 
irksome? Why did he seem so alone in his work 
and ambitions? 


196 


IS love’s domains. 


And then she fell to thinking of this new, 
strange element that had crept into his manner 
toward her — half friendly, half protecting at 
times — in so many ways antici^Dating her wants — 
not in the way of a lover, but with a respectful 
tenderness that had seemed half pity. All at 
once that thought came to her — pity! Why 
should it be that? Could he know — did he know 
what her life had been? Was it that sorrow that 
had brought him to her? 

Her hand clenched a little over the pink shells 
as she saw herself through his eyes, that there 
was what had led him to that impulse last night. 
It was not so much help for himself he asked as 
it was the desire to be close in her thoughts that 
he might help her — she had misunderstood him 
there on the porch. But she was sure now that 
it was only through very kindness of heart that 
he had spoken so. She liked him the better from 
arriving at that conviction, though through it all 
was a sense of rebellious pride. Why was she 
to be thus set aside from other cared-for, care- 
free women? — placed on a level where peox)le 
should think of her with pity, and she could not 
resent it. She had not used to think of it like 
this. For so long a time she had been content 
only with the sense of her late freedom, and now! 
She scarcely knew what had changed it all. How 
those tones of his voice would persist in recurring 
to her! How would that other woman think of 
her when she heard how she came to live alone, 
though married? Would she be coolly cautious 


GALEED. 


197 


until informed of the same, or would she be 
gushingly ijitiful? And the woman laying there 
felt half savagely that she could not stand either 
— not from his wife. She would go away again, 
she and black Liza. Yes, she would drop out of 
his life when the summer was ended. 

But soft through the sunshine of the day came 
the echo of night words: ‘‘Can you understand 
that, too?” 

Why did they haunt her like that? why did 
they fill her with so great an unrest? She had 
tried to speak wisely to him. But long into the 
night she had questioned her own rebellious heart, 
and the day dawn had brought her no answer 
that she dared whisper even to herself. 

A step near her caused her to raise her head. 
Alison stood a few feet away, looking at her 
anxiously. 

“You are ill, Mrs. Holmes?” he asked, cross- 
ing to her quickly. But she shook her head. 

“111? no. Why should you think so?” she 
asked the question half irritably. “I was sleepy, 
I suppose, that was all.” 

“ Sleepy! then you slept badly? ” 

“ I believe not. Why should I? ” her tone had 
a shade more of annoyance in it. To him it 
sounded cold. 

“You are very far away from me to-day,” he 
said, as he looked at her. “ I fear I drove you 
away last night.” 

“Not far,” she answered, laconically, reaching 
for her Tam O’ Shanter, and looking about for her 


198 


IN’ love’s domains. 


pencil. It lay at liis feet, and lie picked it np, 
passing it to her in silence; also the tablet, at 
which he did not glance. 

“Not too far to get a tolerably fair likeness of 
you,” she added, in a more friendly way, showing 
him the sketch. 

“Yes, it is good,” he said, holding it out at 
arm’s length to get the best effect, and then he 
glanced quickly down at her. ‘ ‘ But why did 
you throw it away against that tree, and why the 
pencil ffung in' the grass? and see! some of your 
pretty shells crushed; have you had a destructive 
fit?” 

An instant later he was sorry he had spoken. 
She said nothing, only looked at him. But 
through that gaze he read the remembrance of 
another sketch, and without words he could 
understand the impulse that had fiung from her 
the paper with his face on it. 

“ I am a great blunderer,” he said, after a little. 
“You thought very badly of me that day.” 

“Yes;” again there was no pretense of not 
understanding. “ I thought you very unworthy.” 

“Could you not know enough of the world to 
understand that one can not all at once stej) out 
of the mud of mistakes? or stepping out, that it 
takes some time to clean from one’s shoes the soil 
where one’ s feet have wandered? ’ ’ he asked, in a 
slow way. It was an awkward subject. He 
wondered what other woman he could feel like 
explaining it to. “ If you could only understand 
a little more of the deficiencies of human nature?” 


GALEED. 


199 


“Do I not? ” she said, with a tinge of bitter- 
ness; “I have surely learned that, if no other;” 
and then after a little, she added: “And it made 
me doubtful of much, and the sward looked a very 
comfortable place to lounge in that day, and it 
has surprised me the more in the light of this 
new statement of yours — your engagement.” 

“ I know you think I was false to my position 
toward her, as well as undeserving of your faith. 
But I wish you would believe that the day you 
saw me was an unwelcome echo from an empty 
past; one you helped me free from.” 

“ I? should you not have freed yourself for the 
sake of another? you had a right to.” 

“Yes, you are right. But one needs help to 
do the right thing sometimes, and my — Miss 
Athol does not know — I mean, does not think 
seriously as you do; few girls do, I believe.” 

“ Do you mean that she knows at all — has any 
idea of that worst side of your life?’ ’ 

She evidently could not keep the amazement 
from her tones, and it made him feel a little as he 
had felt about marriage depending only on cere- 
mony. Blanche and himself seemed to have but 
papier-macJie foundations for affection whenever 
he was drifted into discussing themselves with 
this woman; it disturbed him, made him dissatis- 
fied in a way. 

“ Well, you see it is the fault of society, I sup- 
pose,” he began, in an explanatory way. “She 
has seen a good deal of it all her life, and is too 
bright not to keep her ears open. Well, girls 


200 


IX love’s domains. • 


get used to the idea that the men of their set waste 
a good many days in passing time instead of 
improving it. And she knew — yes, she under- 
stood that I was no better; that the chances were 
I might be even a little worse than the most of 
them.” 

She could only look at him. She had not been 
a society girl herself. She had been very igno- 
rant of many things. Men had been to her grand, 
strong ideals as a girl; she had dreamed them in 
dreamy fashion little less than gods. Had the 
gods all died since those days, or had her 
romances, her heroes of right, all been lies? 

“ You puzzle me, sometimes,” she said, at last, 
“ and much as I want to, I am not sure that I like 
either you or Miss — Miss Athol did you say? Not 
for past unworthiness, not for past mistakes, but 
because of the view you each seem to take of it 
now. It does not seem the right thing.” 

“You mean that we look at it too carelessly?” 

‘ ‘ Yes. You have something better in you. I can 
not fancy you as content with the superficial.” 

‘ ‘ I am not sure I have been. Who knows what 
we may be?” 

“I know what you ought to be — what your 
work ought to be; a thing strong enough to wipe 
out all mistakes of the past,” she said, energet- 
ically. 

Down over the bluff they could hear Grace 
singing “Blue Juniata.” One could imagine 
her that bright Alferatta but for her blonde hair. 
How girlish and care-free the voice was! 


GALEED. 


201 


Is Miss Athol like that?” she asked, nodding 
her head toward the beach. 

“No! Not at all. She never was.” 

“You must tell me of her some day,” she con- 
tinued, “ I do not know many women,” and then; 
“ Is she pretty?” 

“She is thought attractive by those who know 
her,” he answered; “but, at first glance, one 
would not think her a beauty.” 

“ I like pretty women — to look at,” slie said, “ I 
like them as I would pictures or statuary — from 
a picturesque point of view. But no doubt the 
sort you describe in her — pretty to those who 
know her — is the. best to wear. Yes, I should 
think it the best for a wife.” 

He picked up the bits of broken shell, pink 
and shattered, slipping them idly from hand to 
hand. 

“You have broken those pretty things,” he 
said, regretfully, for in a sense he felt himself 
the cause. “ Will you take these instead? I 
think something could be made of them — brace- 
let or necklace.” 

They were all soft, pretty tints of cream, and 
pink, and orange, here and there a glistening 
white one, all looking like so many leaves of shat- 
tered roses. 

“They are lovely,” and she held her hands to 
receive them. One of them dropped, the pret- 
tiest, of course. Each bent to pick it up. Her 
head was lowest, and she did not see how close he 
bent above her; but the drooped head and the 


202 


m love’s domains. 


w-hite neck were so close, so close! Her liair 
brushed liis cheek, then his lips, and for an 
instant his fingers pressed a loose bronze lock 
against the eager red of his mouth. Quick it was 
done, and quickly he drew back, feeling like a 
thief, when she raised those clear eyes all uncon- 
sciously to his. 

He rose to his feet and walked over to the edge 
of the bluff. 

“What the devil made me do that?” he asked 
himself, half savagely, “am I, after all, as loose 
in my ideas as the man whose namesake Grace 
says I am?” He walked back and forth, glancing 
at every turn toward that woman sitting there 
silently sorting those shells. 

“No,” he soliloquized, “the ideas and theories 
of the correct thing are steady enough in my 
head. But — I wonder if I am worse than other 
men? I suppose I must be, for I always find my 
emotions and feelings playing the deuce with my 
straight-laced principles.” 

“Do you not think that would make a pretty 
brooch?” she said, turning her head toward him. 
“Oh you are away over there. I thought you 
almost in reach of me.” 

“ I am now,” he answered, crossing to her; while 
to himself he was thinking: “And you make 
me want never to go beyond the reach of your 
hands.” 

He did not feel that he was in love with her, 
it was not that. He had been grateful to her. 
He had been sorry for her, and her earnest sym- 


GALEED. 


203 


pathies had made him want to keep her always as 
a close friend. All that he could understand and 
find a reason for; but this desire for the entire 
possession of her heart and thoughts that had 
made him say what he had last night, and tliat 
had filled him just now with a sort of insanity to 
touch her with his lips if only for once! 

He told himself it was not love, he found him- 
self looking at her moodily and thinking of the 
magnetism that, unconscious of itself, yet sways 
and attracts all in its reach. W as that the secret? 
Could it all be explained by a mere scientific 
theory? And yet what a cold-blooded way to 
think of that soft, girlish form and the sweet lips 
with their cool, firm curves; again and again his 
eyes would wander back to them. 

How coolly she could reason for others, he 
thought; yet that mouth needed all its firm lines 
to keep it from being altogether voluiAuous. It 
was formed as that magnificent thing of Milo 
whose impenetrable gaze attracts, and whose lips 
lure one in spirit to kisses. Thus had each meant 
to appeal only to the mind, to the thing that 
whi&pered of ambitions; but, almost before he 
knew it, something akin to a soul answered 
through him to every glance — every tone coined 
for him. 

What strong, white fingers she had as she dallied 
with the shells. He had never before found him- 
self caring much for the strong, decided order of 
women. The pretty, soft tints had made the most 
alluring pictures to him, and that was another 


204 


IX love’s domains. 


irritation. She went against all his ideas of 
women who had been pleasant to him in the past. 
She was in some respects masterful; a charm which 
should aj)peal only to his intellect. He found 
liimself calling her little captain in his thoughts 
as the major had done; from that he drifted to her 
name of Judith, she who had been the avenger 
of her peojDle. A character formed for sacrifice 
and religion, one whose strong hands had been 
bathed in a man’s blood. He wondered if that 
other Judith had those same flexible fingers, he 
knew she had never that same warm beauty of 
mouth; ah! that mouth where the pearls gleamed! 
His thoughts went with a flush of anger to that 
other man who must have kissed her, her husband, 
and something like an oath raised her eyes inquir- 
ingly to his face. 

“Yes,” he said, hastily, “ I think the two pink 
ones would be pretty on a silver bar. Is that not 
the idea^ Do you think the shells are strong 
enough to be riveted? ” 

So narrow was the line that summer day 
between the rippling of meadow brooks and the 
shadowy abysses where souls struggle in the 
deeps. ' 

There was a sort of electricity in the air that 
conveyed the spirit of earnestness to each, through 
the bulwark of carelessness that wms raised so 
high. But eyes tell so much when they avoid 
each other so persistently, and they found them- 
selves speaking rather eagerly of trifles, and won- 
derfully afraid of silence. 


GALEED. 


205 


Brave was the warrior bold, 

The love of Alferatta! 

sang Grace below them, and with cheeks flushed, 
and fair hair flying, she came up over the bank, 
scattering constraint, and sinking down restfully 
on the sward. “ Oh, I think it is glorious out 
here!” she panted; the sand is so warm. I had 
my shoes off down there wiggling my toes in it — 
oh, no! I do not suppose it looked very dignified, 
but it felt good.” 

“Never mind the lack of dignity, then,” said 
Alison, “ it is feelings instead of conventionalities 
that influence us most anyway.” 

“There,” said Grace, triumphantly, “I knew 
the instincts of Fra Lippo would make themselves 
apparent if I only had patience to wait. I forgive 
you lots of straight-laced ideas for that one bit of 
truth. ” 

^ ‘ How do you know it is truth?’ ’ he asked, 
quizzically. 

“ Why, all the novelists show us that, unless it 
is the horrible pessimist stories — is not that the 
word? I mean the ones whose people do all the 
things they ought to, and live unhappy ever 
after. That is not the sort you write, is it. Fra 
Lippo?” 

“No; I let them do all the things they ought 
not to, and then give them their dose of unhappi- 
ness as a punishment — that is novelists’ Justice, 
you know.” 

“Is it?” queried Grace, dubiously; “well, it 
looks to me like putting a boy in easy reach of a 


206 


IN love’s domains. 


neighbor's orchard, and then making him sick 
because he had a boy’s appetite.” 

‘‘Pretty good simile, Miss Grace,” agreed 
Alison, lazily; “but what would you have me 
write?” 

“Oh, love stories, of course; none others are 
interesting. But I want the people, if they are 
nice, to get everything they want, and only the i 
dark, deep-dyed villains must be left broken- [ 
hearted.” | 

“But do you not think those individuals 
would be just the ones whose hearts would be too 
tough to break?” asked Mrs. Holmes. 

“ Then slash out the villain and have all the 
people good, even if they are a little namby- ; 
pamby; anything, so long as you finish them up 1 
happily, with fortunes and weddings galore.” ' 

“ Suppose, though, that you want to begin ^ 
instead of ending them with the wedding?'’ | 
remarked Alison. 

‘AVell, then. I’d — no, I guess I wouldn't know i 

how to manage them that way. The romance I 
should come before the wedding, not after.” h 

“ But the things that should be so seldom are,” | 
said Mrs. Holmes; “many lives never have any I 
romance; one need not go to novels to learn that.” j 
Alison looked at her, but she did not raise her j 
eyes. The shells he had suggested for the silver i 
bar were still in her hands. Her attention was ! 
evidently given as much to their tints as to the j 
subject discussed. ] 

“ Well, when I write a novel,” began Grace, | 


CtALEED. 


207 


and then straightened herself np in much dignity 
when they laughed. 

‘‘ An opera singer, a novelist, and what else?’’ 
asked Alison, enumerating them on his fingers. 

‘‘Well, I will do something to distinguish 
myself, or I never could rest in my grave after I 
was gone — no, I could not. And my novel, if I 
write one, shall have all the things that should be. 
I will have a lovely woman in it, one like some one 
we know. Fra Lippo, some one with bronze hair, 
who is so lovely, so gracious, that one’ s brothers, 
and fathers, and all, fall in love with her. And 
she must be a sort of latter-day Undine — a lovely 
creature without a soul — only an intellect, you 
know, until some day he comes — the hero, I mean 
— and he looks at her, and she looks af him, and 
her soul is given to her through love. And then 
he knows what he has been searching for always 
among the people he met; and then she knows 
what she has been waiting for — it has been for 
him. And straightway there is no other man, 
and there is no other woman in the world for 
either of them. And so they go together hand 
in hand until they are old and — and that is 
all.” 

“Given like a thing of inspiration,” com- 
mented Alison. “But you make no allowance 
for the accepted idea of the rough current of true 
love,” he spoke lightly, but the words, “and 
straightway there was no other man and no other 
woman in the whole world for either of them,” 
thrilled in his ears, and his eyes met those of the 


IN love’s domains. 


208 

woman opposite. Why did she look at him like 
that? and why did her eyes glisten as if with 
tears? Was it at the thought of being shut 
out forever from such placid love? And why did 
the word “darling” leap to his own eyes as 
plain almost as his lips could have spoken it? 
Ah! those unanswerable things which the heart 
prompts. It was only for one electric instant, 
and both faces were a trifle changed, as Grace 
continued her ideas of stories. He could feel him- 
self grow pale, and could see her own face flush, 
and neither felt like speaking for a little while. 
Voices are so hard to master sometimes, harder 
even than the eyes. 

“There should be no rough currents,” went on 
Grace; “ and the marriage should be a beautiful 
ideal one — like this one in ‘The story of Arnon,’ 
when Azenath chose her human lover in prefer- 
ence even to a son of God. And there never 
must be doubt, or jealousy, or anything to come 
between them.” 

“But something does come in that story,” said 
Mrs. Holmes, at last. “ Death conies.” 

‘ ‘ Oh, yes, ’ ’ agreed Grace, ‘ ‘ but only for a little 
while. Who could imagine Arnon living on and 
on after she was gone? I could not.” 

“You are an extremest,” said Alison. ‘‘You 
could kill them both without qualms of con- 
science, but object to anyone else giving them a 
little worry.” 

“Yes, if the worry in a love story means sep- 
aration, or misunderstanding, or any of those 


GALEED. 


209 


horrid things novelists make use of to end them 
miserably. It would be better to be dead.” 

“It would be better to be dead,” he repeated, 
as he got up and walked out along the edge of 
the bluif. 

“ Fra Lippo looks as if he had struck an inspira- 
tion and wanted to get away from our frivolous 
selves in order to let it mature,’’ remarked Grace; 
and then, after a little, she said: “ I wonder if he 
is thinking of her? He sort of looks as if he might 
be.” 

“Of whom?” 

“Why, of Blanche Athol. I have heard Tom 
quizzing her about him. But when I saw him 
that day at Oyster Bay, I never imagined that 
A. D. Alison was the Dale I had heard her speak- 
ing of. I never would have tliouglit he would be 
her style.” 

“Why not Gier style?’ ” there was the merest 
touch of asperity in the tone. 

“ Oh, because he is too serious, I think. But he 
was not always so, or else they were mistaken. I 
remember hearing that her fiance was awfully 
fast. I can’t remember just who said it. Blanche 
is rather hard to manage herself, at least they 
say that Mrs. Julian, her married sister, who 
chaperons her, has her hands full. Blanche is 
always doing something sensational.” 

“Mr. Alison might not care to hear you say 
so,” admonished the other. 

“Well, I don’t intend that he shall,” returned 
Grace, frankly. “But he must know, as every 

14 


210 


IN love’s domains. 


one else does, that Blanche Athol is an awful flirt. 
Papa says she began to coo and make eyes 
coquettishly in her cradle, and she has kept it up 
ever since.” 

^‘Yes.” 

“Um,” assented Grace, trying to button her 
shoe with her fingers. ‘‘ Say, Mrs. Holmes, lend 
me a hairpin, will you? Please let me call you 
Judith, just as Mrs. Winans does? it’s so much 
nicer; can I? Oh, you’re a darling!” as Mrs. 
Holmes smiled assent. And then her bright, 
young eyes wandered again to that figure on the 
bluff. “And did you notice how he repeated 
those words? ’ ’ she continued, ‘ ‘ and how quick he 
got up and went away? Papa says they will 
never get along together. Perhaps Fra Lippo 
thinks so, too, and its the idea of separation that 
worries him.” 

“Oh, you romancer!” laughed Mrs. Holmes. 
“I am afraid Mr. Alison is much too practical 
for you to make a melancholy hero of, and no 
doubt he and Miss Athol are very well satisfied 
with each other.” 

‘ ‘ W ell, perhaps he don’ t know all yet, ’ ’ debated 
Grace. ‘ ‘ I guess he has been working awfully 
hard lately. Papa says he has been cutting 
society. But Blanche does not. She was going 
abroad this summer, but whimsically changed her 
mind at the last moment and upset all the J ulians’ 
plans. And Fra Lippo ought to remember that 
when he is not with her some one else is, sure. 
It's been Dick Haverly lately, th^y say, and the 
things Pve heard — ” 


GALEED. 


211 


“ Grace,” said Mrs. Holmes, rising to her feet, 
“I would rather not hear anything more on the 
subject. I may meet Miss Athol some day, and 
prefer not to be prejudiced.” 

“ Why, bless you, I — I didn’t want to preju- 
dice you,” said Grace, quickly; “only— well, I 
don’t believe when you do meet her that you will 
think her any more your style than he is hers. 
It’s all wrong some way, and since I’ve known 
him a little I’m sorry. Yes, I am. He is so good 
and so considerate, and just as the major says, lie 
is such a good fellow.” 

‘‘ Suppose you get him to wait until you are 
quite grown, and then marry him yourself to be 
sure he is appreciated?” suggested Mrs. Holmes, 
teasingly. 

“ Stop it!” laughed Grace. “ I would not be a 
bit of an improvement on Blanche. I might be 
even worse. But I like him so well. And do 
you know he is just the sort of person I would 
like to have in a love story such as I intend to 
write, and when he would meet the right woman 
there should be no one else in their lives ever 
again. And he would know that at last he had 
come into his own.” 

“Into his own,” said Alison, who had just 
come up back of them. ‘‘Is it an inheritance. 
Miss Grace?” She glanced at him saucily. 

“Yes, Fra Lippo, it is an inheritance. One 
that I wonder if you will know as your own 
when you come to it — in novels they do not, some- 
times.” 


212 


IN love’s domains. 


He glanced from Grace to Mrs. Holmes. 

“Oh, it is only another romance of Grace’s,” 
she explained. “ She is in a visionary mood 
to-day.” 

“Well, it is all the fault of ‘The Story of 
Arnon,’ ” said the embryo novelist. “I am a 
spongy, impressionable creature, and it has satu- 
rated my feeble mind with beautiful pictures 
and vistas of romance;” and then she began to 
laugh quietly. ‘ ‘ I think, when I go home, I will 
read that to the major,” she said, wickedly; “he 
flies from anything with sentiment in it, and to 
punish him for calling me silly at the stile last 
night, I am going to read him those love songs. ” 

“Don’t bear malice. Miss Grace,” said Alison, 
lighting a cigar, and speaking between puffs; 
“ you are too good a girl.” 

“Don’t be too blind to know your own when 
you come to it. Fra Lippo,” she answered, 
mimicking him with a bit of twig in her mouth; 
“for I may want you to help me out with my 
novel, and besides, you are too good a fellow.’* 

“Thanks,” he said, good-humoredly. “If I 
And myself too blind I may come to you to be 
led.” 

“You may come right now,” she said, promptly, 
“and I will lead you for a walk — both of you. 
Judith needs a rest. She is the only one of us 
who has anything to show for to-day’s work. I 
don’t believe you have written a dozen lines. Fra 
Lippo — shameful waste of valuable time.” 

“Then I had better set to work at once and 


GALEED. 


213 


waste no more,” he said, reaching for a portfolio; 
but Grace got it first. 

‘‘No you don’t,” she said, capturing it. 
“Major sent you as an escort, and your duty is 
to see that we don’t get stuck in the mud, or 
kidnapped by the Montauks. I want to explore 
the woods and see how far back they reach. You 
must go as cavalier, and as the proper thing for 
an individual of my age is a chaperon, Mrs. 
Holmes must be the martyr and come along.” 

And stacking books and emptied lunch-basket 
against a tree, they started from the shore back 
into the shadowy woods where the tall ferns grew 
knee-high with here and there white shells from 
the sea imbedded about their brown roots. 

Grace amused herself by darting ahead until 
she was hidden by the shrubbery, and then giving 
vent to shrill yelps in staccato fashion that she 
fondly imagined were imitations of Indian war- 
whoops. 

“I heard them bark like that at the Wild West 
show,” she explained to them, as if too honest to 
claim undeservingly any credit for being the 
founder of this new school of music. “And I 
did not think them at all terrific — neither their 
whoop nor their war dance. I can do that, too; I 
did it for papa after we came home that evening, 
and as a reward he wouldn’t let me go even to a 
theatre for a month after. This is it.” 

And straightway Miss Grace began her dance 
with thumbs pointed heavenward and an alter- 
nate lifting of feet, as if the thing they stood 


214 


IN love’s domains. 


on was too hot for comfort, the while moving in 
dismal sort of time to slow monotone of song that 
sounded like an introduction to the demon music 
of a pantomime. 

Her auditors, more critical than enthusiastic, 
tried, between fits of laughter, to bribe her to 
cease, a bribery she spurned as all art should. 

“You’re jealous,” . she said, after she had 
brought the dance to a close by a series of yelps 
that would have done credit to a Comanche; 
‘ ‘ that’ s why you insist that the thumb part of 
the dance is Chinese. That only goes to prove 
that I am an artist capable of blending the poetry 
of motion of two races into a grand masterpiece 
that would astonish specimens of either nation.” 

“It undoubtedly would,” assented Alison, 
dryly, “ what an unappreciative parent, not to 
encourage your talent in that direction.” 

“That’s irony,” she said, nodding her head 
sagaciously at Judith. “High art can afford to 
ignore such trifles, therefore, I ignore it. I am 
not at all egotistical, but I know jealousy when I 
see it.” 

And striding with a tragic air through the ferns 
and grass she was soon out of sight in the 
shrubbery. 

The other two found conversation a difficult 
thing to manage, and so when left alone with the 
silence of the woods about them, he grew quiet in 
a way that might have been half moody, as he 
would stand watching her collect the green 
feathers and bright bits of leaves or grass that 


GALEED. 


215 


went to make up a great bouquet with the sweet, 
wild smell of the earth clinging to them. 

He thought she was right when she had laid 
claim to a touch of Indian nature. Not else, 
he thought, could she so busy herself in the little 
secrets of the herbs, questioning the moss growth 
of its faithfulness to the cold, repelling stone 
where it crept; drawing great armfuls of sweet 
bay ' toward her, and burjdng her face in its 
cool leaves, closing her eyes in drunken fash- 
ion at its fragrance. As quick as Grace in darting 
under branches and through shrubbery for a bit 
of bright-hued .treasure, she was yet more silent. 

“All nature seems one's own personal posses- 
sion when one has the wildness of the woods so 
close about one,” she said, in answer to that 
steady, curious look of his at the embrace of the 
branches. 

“All passive nature,” he corrected. “I know 
your sweeping assertions really apply only to the 
herbs you gather, pretty leaves that look bright 
for a few hours but are unconscious of your care.” 

““I am never sure they are unconscious,” she 
returned, quickly, as if to skip over the sugges- 
tion underlying that remark. He knew the tone 
of that speech was contemptible in him, but all 
his quiet watching of the girlish, provoking form 
had found vent in that half protest. 

“They do not seem passive to me,” she con- 
tinued, “the things of the woods always keep 
fresh for me so long— longer by far than culti- 
vated dowers — and that is an unusual thing you 


216 


m love's domains. 


know, so I have made up my mind they are not 
unconscious, they have a soul for me. ’ ’ 

“You give it to them,” he said, and turned 
away as she looked questioning! y at him. An 
instant more of those eyes on his, and he knew 
he would have said: “I do not wonder, you 
awaken theirs as you do mine, you draw souls to 
you, and arouse temptations to ask for all your 
own in return.” 

Did she guess at all of that struggle under the 
terseness of his tone? She grew silent again, 
making no sign. And they walked on, on through 
the broken paths after Grace. And the sky grew 
darker by spells as clouds seemed to drop lower 
over the tree-tops, and the birds began to twdtter 
to each other of coming change. 

“We shall have a storm to-night,” she said, 
glancing upward. 

“And the night is not so far off as you might 
imagine,” he replied, glancing at his watch, “it 
is almost six o’clock.” 

“ So late!” she said in surprise, “where has the 
day gone?” 

‘ ‘ It has not gone unrecorded at least, ’ ’ he began, 
and then stopped, setting his teeth determinedly 
with the vow to let no more words be drawn from 
him by impulse or circumstances. He would not 
let her think him so altogether weak. 

“We must find Grace; we must go back at 
once,” she said, hurriedly. “ We have come a long 
way from the shore have we not? It will be late 
when we get home.” 


GALEED. 


217 


“ I think we have walked farther than we have 
realized,” he answered; ‘‘we shall learn that 
when we attempt to retrace our steps. And our 
trip across the water will take some time. Yes, 
we had better hurry if we want a hot dinner.” 

Grace, perched on a fence away ahead of them, 
refused to come back until they paid her a visit. 

“ I can see away down the road,” she shouted, 
“and there’s a buggy coming this way; I do 
believe it’s the major. Let us wait and see, never 
mind if it does rain, we won’t melt.” 

Sure enough, it was the major, and Mrs. Wi- 
nans smiling a little nervously as she glanced up 
at the darkening clouds. 

“Out here yet?” called the major from the 
road. ‘Yt’s time you young folks were heading 
toward home.” 

“We are going,” answered Grace, “I only 
waited to see if it was you — sure. What have 
you got in the basket.” 

“Peaches!” said the major, smacking his lips 
in appreciation. “Beauties; great, big, yellow 
fellows from Maryland. Come, jump into the 
buggy. You can have your share now.” 

“She must wait for her share,” called Mrs. 
Holmes, “we must go back to the boat at once.” 

“ Perhaps she had better drive back with us,” 
suggested Mrs. Winans; “the wind is rising— it 
will be one less to carry across the water.” 

The three picnickers glanced at each other. 

“No,” said Mrs. Holmes, rather hastily, “that 
would never do; you must not turn deserter.” 


218 


IN LOVPrS DOMAINS. 


‘^But it does seem a sensible plan,” debated 
Grace, ‘‘getting home will take hard work 
against the wind, and then think of the peaches, 
Judith! I will have some with cream on for you 
by the time you get home. Say yes, that's a 
good girl.” 

“No, no, we are only wasting valuable time dis- 
cussing it. Come, don’t be bribed by peaches.” 

There was an instant’s indecision, and then the 
major said, insinuatingly: 

“There is a box of Maillard's chocolate creams 
in my pocket for somebody..’ ’ 

That settled it. The “somebody” made a wild 
lunge over the fence, calling as she went: 

“Look after my book of ‘ Arnon,’ Fra Lippo, 
I don’t dare ask Judith, because she disapproves 
of my weakness, but I will have your peaches and 
cream ready for you when you get home. Good- 
bye! Take double care of her because you have 
only one to look after now. Major, which pocket 
is the box in?” 

And with a deprecating smile from Mrs. 
Winans, and a victorious laugh from the major, 
the buggy whirled down the road, leaving those 
two standing there alone under the threatening 
sky. 

“Well this is rather — ” he began, and then 
hesitated a moment. When he spoke again it was 
only to remark: “That was rather quick work.” 

“Never mind,” she said, as if trying to per- 
suade herself not to mind; “we must make the 
best of it.” 


GALEED. 


219 


And from the tone of each a third person would 
have said that neither appeared anxious for that 
tete-d-tUe journey home. 

“ Come, we may as well start at once,” he said, 
brusquely. “Let me carry those things for 
you.” 

“Those things” were the ferns and grasses of 
which he had felt so nearly jealous. But she 
shook her head, gathering them close up to her 
in one arm. 

‘ ‘ Thanks, no. I can manage them, and myself, 
too, very nicely.” The latter part of the speech 
was in reply to an offered hand in walking over a 
swampy place in the meadow path. 

The wind had risen suddenly and was blowing 
a regular gale, while the clouds shifted and 
drifted in great banks overhead. Alison glanced 
dubiously at them and dropped back a step or so 
until he was close beside her. 

“That wind is rather sweeping as it comes 
across here,” he remarked. “I may shelter you 
from it a little.” 

“What? I could not hear you,” she panted, 
as a strong gust of wind lifted her Scotch cap 
and an instant later would have carried it away, 
but that he caught it, and with her one free hand 
and both of his the unruly article was pulled 
down over her hair; the hair he had kissed 
unknown to her, but from which he turned delib- 
erately now. One is in part the conqueror who 
knows his own weakness. 

“ I may shelter you some from this side,” he 


220 


IN love’s domains. 


half shouted, for they were nearer the timber and 
the noise of the wind greater. ‘‘That was what 
I was trying to say.” 

“Never mind. I like storms, and am strong 
enough to stand alone.” 

Just for a moment a lull in the wind made clear 
a word he was impelled to at the ]3icture of that 
slight form in the world’s gales; it was: 

“ Always?” 

“I hope so,” she said, looking up at him clearly 
as she could with the wind in her eyes. “Yes, I 
shall have to.” 

It was the first time her position had ever been 
touched on between them. Was it the fault of 
the magnetic currents of the storm that perme- 
ated themselves, and made vision and speech 
clear-cut and incisive. 

“ I hope, then, that the storms will all be light 
ones,” he said; and she bowed her head as if to 
tell him she heard, but no word was spoken until 
they reached the edge of the timber. 

Just for a little she halted there, glancing up at 
the changeful evening sky, back over the meadow, 
and then into the wood, all so changed! everything 
grown so dark. All the light left in the heavens 
was the streaks of dull red and copper that looked 
like reflections from some immense furnace. 

“It all looks weird, uncanny,” she said, smiling 
vaguely, but not looking at him, “ it is because of 
the sudden change, I suppose.” 

“Yes,” he assented, and then that moment’s 
halting of hers made him wonder in a half irrita- 


GALEED. 


221 


ted fashion as if he had made her doubt him by 
his own confessions. 

“ Are you afraid?” he asked abruptly. 

Then she did look at him. 

‘‘Afraid! of what?” 

“Of the storm of course,” he added, rather 
hastily. 

And she smiled up at him as she said: “It’s 
not five minutes since I told you I liked them. 
Has the wind blown your memory away?’ ’ 

“You had better come on,” he said, as if not 
hearing her question. 

”Yes, I will come,” she said, taking a step 
further into the wood. “Its all very uncanny- 
looking ahead there, but — yes, we must go 
on.” 

Yes, no matter how doubtfully we look into 
the future, still the past that is so eager to swal- 
low up all that is, drives souls onward to meet 
that which is to be. 

Was it some such thought that checked the 
woman there that evening at the edge of the wood 
and the edge of the storm? 

No rain had fallen, only the threats murmured 
through distant thunder, and far off the lightning 
hashes prepared them for anything as they hurried 
through the trees. He had offered his arm, which 
she refused with a smiling shake of her head. 

“Is she so afraid of touching me?” he asked 
himself half -savagely; and together with that was 
a half -resolve to leave the next day. Something 
was always giving him an impulse to say just the 


222 


IN love’s domains. 


things he had no right to say, and — yes, he would 
go away. 

“Look out there!” he warned, as some round 
bowlders half-hidden by ferns made an uncer- 
tain foothold. “I know you are too indepen- 
dent to want assistance, but you may not resent 
a warning.” 

“ Certainly not,” she said, trying to laugh 
carelessly; “warnings are always in order, but 
I have considerable mule in my comjjosition when 
it comes to my feet, and am used to standing on 
my own responsibility,” and then suddenly, she 
asked: “ Should we not surely be near the boat 
by this time?” 

‘ ^ Does the way seem so long then?’ ’ He did not 
add, “ with me” but the tone implied it, and her 
avoidance of him x)rovoked it, scattering what 
little judgment he had left. 

“ I did not say so,” she said quietly, and he 
strode on a step ahead of her in silence that seemed 
moody, and a little later she added in a half-hes- 
itating way: “ You are not like yourself this even- 
ing. I think you are inclined to be a little hard 
on me in your thoughts.” 

“Don’t speak like that,’' he answered abruptly. 
“ You don’t know what you are saying to me.” 

She only looked at him, but did not speak, and 
after a little he said: “Try to pardon that 
speech, it sounds rude to you, but I — I did not 
mean to be that, and I don’t want you to think so 
our last evening together, for I believe I am going 
away to-morrow.” 


GALEEB 


223 


“ Going away!” for the first time she reached 
out her hand to him; was it because of the words 
or for the same reason that she gave a low cry an 
instant later, and stumbled forward, falling to her 
knees. 

“ W ait a moment,” she said, holding his hands 
and leaning against him; only an instant he held 
her so, looking down at her eyes that were closed. 
After a little she spoke again, rather uncer- 
tainly. 

“ It made me faint, just at first. I was certain 
of nothing but your hands,” then she tried to 
raise herself by his help. 

It is my foot,” she began, and a half moan of 
pain broke from her; I can not stand on it,” she 
whispered. 

He said nothing. The clasp of her fingers, the 
shivering pressure of her form against him, as he 
bent over her, took from him the desire for 
speech. He could but think in a wild fashion of 
the sweetness of it, that had a sort of fear as a 
background. 

‘‘Let me help you,” and his arm, circling her 
waist, gave him a guilty feeling, simply because it 
gave him a pleasure he dared not acknowledge. 

“ I can not,” as she tried with his assistance to 
walk; “ I can not even step on my foot. I think I 
sprained my ankle on the stone that slipped.” 

He glanced from her to the path ahead of them, 
through the woods that were growing darker, and 
through which he could not yet see the gleam of 
the water. 


224 


IN love’s domains. 


‘‘Yes,” she said, trying to smile, “ it is a long 
way; and what in the world am I to do?” 

“Try again,” he suggested, with a grim deter- 
mination not to indulge himself in the one method 
by which he could have got her to the boat, ‘ ‘ lean 
on my arm — now!” 

Another trial, and her face whitened with pain, 
as she sank limply on the ground. “Ah, how 
can you make me try when you see that I can 
not. ” 

The piteous appeal was wrung from her by the 
pain, and that deadly faintness that followed it, 
and in a moment all his bonds of restraint were 
broken by that protest against wdiat she felt was 
his cruelty to her. And when she opened her 
eyes his arms were about her, and her head on his 
knee. 

“You go,” she whispered, “ send some one — a 
doctor, I suppose — it may be broken. But please 
hurry.” 

“ I will not leave you,” he said, decidedly. 

“But really I am not afraid; it will not be long 
to wait. They can drive back for me, you know, 
and— and — please go.” 

Her eyes were raised so pleadingly to his face; 
was she pleading against her own wish as well as 
his? He did not stop to reason the question then. 
He only read in a vague way that while the voice, 
trying to master itself, said “go,” the eyes, un- 
conscious through pain, said “ stay.” 

“ I will not,” he muttered, and his face dropped 
a little lower over her own. 


GALEED. 


225 


There was only the woods and the storm about 
them, and in the shelter of his arms, content was 
trying to creep through the faintness and pain. 

‘‘No!” she said, making a last effort to be sim- 
ply inquiring, and raising herself a little higher 
from his knee. And then meeting his eyes she 
could go no further; what w^as told in that one 
gaze for which neither could summon a mask? 
Whatever it w^as, the wind whistled by unheeded, 
the storm passed from their knowledge, and 
through the dusk they could see only each the 
soul of the other. 

“No!” she tried to say again, smiling weakly. 
But the whispered word was silenced by his face 
close against hers, and in the domain she had 
deemed “uncanny,” the seal of their lives was 
stamped by a kiss. 

Were there any words spoken in that confes- 
sion? Neither could ever tell. But after this 
sweetness of silence he spoke, and his voice with 
its new tone sounded odd and strange. 

“I must get you home quickly, it is growing 
dark.” 

“Yes,” and her eyes raised to his dropped 
again, and she turned her face close into the 
hollow of his elbow in a half-shamed way. 

“ And you must let me carry you.” 

There was a little silence, and then, her voice 
still from the covert against his coat, said: 

“ But— can you?” 

“Can I!” How care free, how boyish his 
laugh sounded! He thought as he heard it, ‘ ‘ when 

15 


226 


IX love’s domains. 


have I laughed like that before?” Carry her? 
why the world seemed but a feather-weight in 
the light of this new j)ossession. 

Yes, about them was the gathered storm, beyond 
them wind and tide to light against over the 
course they must take together. It was a proph- 
ecy of lives to be lived. But a kiss had drawn a 
veil over past and future. Just then the knowl- 
edge of possession made life a thing lovely to be 
lived, and he drew her closer, and laughed down 
at her. 

“ Can I! and will I?” he said, stubbornly draw- 
ing her face around until he could see it. ‘‘Yes, 
you can tell Grace I do know my own when I 
come to it.” 

Then her arms crept about his throat, she was 
lifted to his breast together with the mass of ferns 
at touch of which he laughed again, as he carried 
his burden of love back over the wood-path that 
had brought them into so strange a land. 

“Those poor leaves!” he said happily. “ How 
short a time since I was jealous of them!” and 
then Grace’s words recurred to him again, and he 
said softly, “ my own.” 

She did not answer, she had said no word. She 
had given herself into his arms, v^hat need was 
there of words after that. But all the while 
there rang something in her ears that said ‘ ‘ false, 
false!” 

She knew it was a sweet lie they had cheated 
themselves with for one delirious moment. She 
knew she was false as a wife, that she had been 


GALEED. 


227 


ever since that day in Oyster Bay when watching 
him dash his boat straight out to the Sound he 
had drawn her thoughts after him. She knew 
there was some one else, that other girl to whom 
she was making him a traitor. And she laughed a 
little bitterly as her arms relaxed, and she looked 
up in his face and said: 

How much easier it is to advocate high ideals 
for others, than to follow the simplest code of 
morals for ourselves.” 

‘‘Put your arms back as they were,” he com- 
manded, tenderly, “ and don’t speak like that.” 

‘ ‘ I will if I want to. If I am a thief, why 
should I not acknowledge it?” 

“You are not that” — and he tried to draw her 
face closer to his and stop her speech, but she 
drew aside. 

“I am that,” she said, calmly, “and much 
more. I am a liar when I have tried to have you 
think me better than I am — so much better than 
I have been of late. I have been,” and she looked 
uj) at him — “ I have been coveting my neighbor s 
goods, and worse than that, I have tried to steal 
them while my neighbor is away.” 

Again there was the quick attempt to draw her 
face to his. 

“Don’t do that! I would not if I were you,” 
she said, curtly. “ Go and kiss some good woman 
— some one who does not deceive you with fair, 
false witness for herself!” 

“ Judith!” 

“ Yes, that is the woman you said I was like,” 


22S 


IN love’s domains. 


she continued, ironically; “the woman with 
earnest religious tendencies, the woman of grand 
sacrifices! Why did yon not call me a Frou- 
Frou? I have much more of her timber in me.” 

“You are unjust to yourself,” he said, decid- 
edly. " ‘ It may be a misfortune to you that this 
has occurred, but it is not a crime — at least the 
fault is not yours. We both tried to reason our- 
selves out of it. I know now that you did. But 
whatever the result is, you must never blame 
yourself to me. I know you, dear, too well.” 

She did not answer, and a little later the broken 
quiver of her breath told him she was crying. 

He could say nothing. He knew now that the 
past days had been a strain on her that he had 
not guessed, and he felt guilty when he thought 
of how he had added to it. Down into the boat he 
carried her, where the wind rocked their light 
craft as if it were one of the pink shells they had 
gathered. Carefully he placed her that the 
injured foot should not suffer from wrench or 
lurch, and then looked across the foamy waters 
that were not likely to reassure one who was ill or 
nervous. 

“Are you afraid?” he asked. 

“With you?” and what avowal of love could 
mean more than the words and tone, and then she 
said : ‘ ‘ Come here I ’ ’ 

He dropped on his knee beside her, steadying 
the boat with one oar thrust in the sand. 

“I am not a good woman,” she said, reaching 
up and passing her hand along his face. “I 


GALEED. 


229 


never am quite sure when I think of heaven. But 
now — to-night, I should have no fear of death. I 
think I should be glad. Happiness can not last 
like — like — you know, and I think it would be 
easier to go down under the waves than to live 
and know it must change.” 

Do not dream of any change in our thoughts,” 
he said, earnestly; “that will never come. We 
do not know — a storm has brought us this stolen 
happiness — who knows what the calm may 
bring? ” 

Who knows — who ever knows? And her 
woman’ s eyes turned wistfully — always will turn 
wistfully back toward those shadows, where 
thoughts unspeakable had been granted expres- 
sion. 


CHAPTER IX. 

Ah , me! how easily things grow wrong. 

A sigh too much, or a kiss too long! 

And there follows a mist and a sweeping rain, 

And life is never the same again. 

“A real adventure, wasn’t it?” said Grace, 
appreciatingly. ‘ ‘ How delightful!’ ’ 

“Delightful to be laid up with a sprained 
ankle,” queried Mrs. Holmes, ironically. 

“No, of course Pm sorry to see you suffer, and 
you did, awfillly, didn’t you, dear? No, those 
things are only romantic in theory.” 


230 


IN love’s domains. 


“They are not according to any theory of 
mine.” 

“Oh, you know what I mean — not the ankle 
—the rest of it.” 

“The rest of it?” repeated Mrs. Winans, in 
mild questioning. “My dear Grace, when you 
do air your ideas, try and make them more 
explicit.” 

“You dear bit of prunes and prisms,” said 
the girl, darting toward the old lady, and treat- 
ing her to a convulsive hug. “You’re as bad as 
papa, and worse than Tom. You know I mean the 
rest of the — the episode — is that correct? the pic- 
turesque helplessness, and a cavalier to carry you 
in his arms; how delightful; wish it had been I. 
Say, Judith, did you imagine him Captain Kidd 
carrying you away to the stormy seas? 1 should 
have had a whole romance conjured up by the 
time he had landed the boat and lugged you 
home.” 

“Lugged would not sound romantic, I fear,’' 
suggested the cripple. 

“N — no, it is rather matter of fact. But I 
should imagine that getting you here was a prac- 
tical affair for him — a muscular one at all events — 
the pull across that bay in the wind was a terror.” 

“Yes;” and Mrs. Winans raised her brows 
ever so slightly. 

“A most difficult feat for one man single- 
handed and alone to accomx)lish,” said Grace, in 
parrot-like fashion, dropping a courtesy at the 
finish. 


GALEED. 


231 


Am I a nonentity, then?” asked Mrs, Holmes, 
plaintively, ‘ ‘ lie had two hands, and he was not 
alone; that is if I count for anything.” 

‘‘Which yon decidedly did,” remarked Grace, 
frankly. “You counted for about 110 pounds 
when he carried you up them steps, and his face 
flushed as if he’d caught a fever from your 
sprained ankle.” 

“ Grace!” 

“ Well, he did; but don’t be alarmed, he’s over 
it this morning. I saw him at breakfast, and he 
looked interestingly natural as usual; asked how 
you are; can he come to see you, or be of any 
use in any way, etc., etc.” 

They wheeled the sofa on which she lay close 
up to the window of her sitting-room, and out 
across the verandah she could get a view of the 
bay, sleeping in peace through the late morning to 
make amends for its riotous lashing through the 
wakeful night. 

“How still it looks,” she thought, a little bit- 
terly. “ How well it hides the dark possibilities 
under its surface. It is as much of a liar as I am.” 

Up across the meadow she saw a tall form strid- 
ing over the short grass toward the house. What 
was that in his hands? Only a few red leaves and 
the shells they had gathered the day before — only 
one day ago! All through the night that day had 
given them both food for thought, and now as 
she saw him through the window, and as he saw 
her across the road, the eyes of each fell at the 
memories thronging close. But he came straight 


232 


IN love’s domains. 


to her, his face pale and earnest. Yes, the fever 
of the night had gone, and in its place was a 
steadfastness that gave her courage. 

“They were not washed away?” she asked, 
quietly, taking the trophies in one hand and giving 
him the other, which he held so closely, so 
reassuringly, until that warm clasp forced her to 
raise her eyes to his. 

“No, these few remained faithful; they knew 
you would want them this morning. How are 
you?’ ’ 

“You see!” and she glanced at her own out- 
lined figure on the lounge, and then: “ I have not 
even thanked you for last night,” she said, “ but 
I do — for — all of it.” 

He smiled ever so slightly at that. “ You 
thank me — ah! my dear — my dear — ” 

“Don’t!” 

“Friend,” he added, as if finishing the sen- 
tence. 

“That is better,” she said, looking up at him. 
“ That is how we must try to think.” 

Her voice was not very steady, and to the man 
watching her she had never looked so lovely 
as with that light of resolve on her face — that 
tremulous sweetness of the mouth that was try- 
ing so hard to conform its curves to duty, though 
so late. 

They were alone now. Mrs. Winans and Grace 
had just gone for a short walk with the major, 
and with admonitions to take care of the invalid 
in their absence. Alison was left with his chair 


GALEED. 


233 


drawn up to tlie window inside of wliich she lay. 
“You look troubled,’’ lie said, looking at her 
earnestly. ‘ ‘ Don’ the.” 

“lam troubled, and I deserve to be troubled,” 
she answered, her eyes on the figures in the car- 
pet. “You see — last night — well, I have been 
very miserable lately, in more ways than you 
know, and I suppose I am turning coward; I never 
used to be so — so weak, but sometimes I have 
wanted, so much, friendship such as yours might 
be if — if we could but be true to it.” 

“My friend!” he said, half appealingly, laying 
his hand on hers; but she went on, still speaking 
in a low, monotonous sort of way, as if trying to 
bar out all feeling, all light and shade from her 
tones. 

‘ ‘ And last night when you were sorry for me — 
well, it made me weak, in a way, and I think we 
both forgot there would have to be to-morrows 
and to-morrows. But we must remember, now.” 

A little while they sat in silence, and then he 
said: 

“Yes, we must remember, now. I will try to 
remember, or do anything you wish. I want you 
to be content. Try not to look troubled. Be a 
little glad, can’t you?” 

“You are very good to me; few, I think, would 
be so — so sympathetic toward a woman who for- 
got herself as I did.” 

“ Don’t speak like that — you! were you alone? 
Look up here!” and when the drooping face was 
raised he continued: “You must not grow 


234 


IN love’s domains. 


morbid over this, you think of it too seriously 
as — ” 

“Seriously!’' she broke in with a burst of 
humiliation. “Am I ever likely to forget, or feel 
less ashamed when I — ah, how can you expect me 
to think of that carelessly? If I did, I should be 
worth altogether the worst of your thoughts.” 

“You will have always only the best of them,” 
he said, earnestly; “and I should not like to 
think you would forget. I know I never shall.” 

“ You may remember — yes;” she said, looking 
at him curiously. “But I feel as if 1 have helped 
make you lose faith a little in women — and then 
remembrance will be only regret.” 

He got up abruptly, and walked across the 
verandah, and then came back to her. 

“I can see that no matter how unhappy they 
make you, the bonds of the past are things you 
do not think of breaking. I can say nothing to 
you of those. I have not been free to say even 
so much as I have. But I want to be your friend 
— if in that way I can liel^^ you to secure a little 
content. And when you speak of regret — oh, my 
dear! my dear! the only regret you can bring me 
is that we did not meet earlier.” 

There was no mistaking the truth in his tone. 
The sight of the half-shamed face that he had 
always seen so independent, and the thought of 
her supposed humiliation in his eyes, made him 
long to take her in his arms — to tell her in all fond 
ways how much she was to him. 

“We must not speak like that to each other 


GALEED. 


235 


again,” she said, slowly; ‘‘not if we are to know 
each other — to try to be friends.” 

“ And we will be,” he half asked, half decided, 
“more earnest, helpful friends than before, 
because we know* each other now.” 

“Do we?” she asked, naively. “I am not 
sure; you may not know me at all, even yet.” 

“ I know you enough to be proud of you.” 

“But suppose I am not able to keep ux) to 
those high ideals of friendship we have spoken of 
so often — suppose I am again a failure?” and she 
smiled rather nervously. The morning was a test 
to her. She had had all the night to think of it — 
to see the truth in herself — both her strength and 
her weakness, and she had slighted neither. 

“We will help each other.” His tone of con- 
viction left her without words for a little, and 
when she si)oke it was as a general who gives up 
a field from one point and attempts a recapture 
from another. 

‘Won spoke of going away — will you?” 

“ IN'ot until you are able to walk, at least.” 

Another silence, and then— “You know some- 
thing of how I have lived —I mean — alone?” 

“ Yes — don’t speak of it if — if it is unpleasant. 
It must have been a great mistake.” 

“It was — for Mr. Holmes,” she rejoined, ironi- 
callj’. “ Oh, don’t look at me as if I was jesting 
at something sacred — sacred! oh, God!” 

And her head dropped forward on the window- 
ledge, and he could see that she was quivering 
with suppressed sobs. It vras misery for him to 


236 


IN love’s domains. 


see her so, yet know that no words of his — that 
God himself could not help her except by blotting 
out memory. 

After a while she spoke, but with her forehead 
still low there on the wood- work, his hand stroking 
her hair, with a caress in every touch of his 
fingers. 

“And so you see life has been a very bitter 
thing to me sometimes. And I have needed — 
have wanted not sympathy so much as under- 
standing, and now — ^now that it has come, I am 
afraid.” 

“You dear woman!” 

“But I want you to know we must not let the 
time come when we can not be honest with each 
other.” 

“ No, go on, what is it you want to tell me? ” 

“Give me your hand first — so! across my eyes, 
and try to understand me. There have been 
times in my life when friendship such as yours 
would have been a great temptation to me; times 
when I was so miserable that I was reckless. If — 
if those times should return — ” 

His fingers closed tight over her own for an 
instant. 

“Don’t be afraid,” he said, slowly — earnestly; 
“Try to trust me a little longer, enough to 
prove to you that friendship is not a thing to fear. 
I wish I could take your weight of unhappiness 
and bear it for you.” 

“No one can — ever,” she said, more composedly; 
the very clasp of his fingers had helped her to a 


GALEED. 


237 


sort of strength. “I suppose, being married, I 
should not say such things to another man. I 
know I should not. But, lately, I have been so 
tired, so heart-sick, and when I saw that you 
understood it — well, I turned coward all at once, 
and — and I wonder how you will think of me in 
the future.” 

‘‘As I always have thought of you; good 
thoughts, and I know you will deserve them.” 

“ It is good to hear you say that, to know that 
you believe in me; you can not know how it 
helps me.” 

‘ ‘ I know how you helped me, by having faith 
in me even before we met. I never can repay you; 
let me do what little I can in return; let me be 
your friend.” 

“ My friend,” she repeated, raising tear- wet 
eyes to his face; “and if — if the time comes — ” 

“ If the time comes when we can not be honest, 
and only friends — yes — I will go away.” 

So they spoke, clasping hands there by the win- 
dow; so they thought, looking at each other with 
tender, earnest eyes, and in the heart of each 
there was the silent resolve: “ I will be worthy.” 

Was the echo of words of yesterday dumb? Had 
it been stilled by the murmur of the pines, or the 
dip of the sea? Somewhere, it had wandered 
surely, and in its stead had crept a sprite akin to 
duty, and looking through their eyes it made 
them feel that the welfare of each depended on 
the smothering of that sense that tried to whisper 
warningly: 


238 


IN love’s domains. 


‘ ‘ And "Straightway there was no other woman, 
and there was no other man in the whole world to 
either of them, ever again.” 


CHAPTER X. 

We boast our light; but, if we look not wisely 
On the sun itself, it smites us into darkness. 

The days that followed were days of sweet sug- 
gestions to those natures that had been in a way 
world-weary. Ah, the long, quiet talks through 
the days and the nights of that season! and the 
new trustfulness of the thing they called friend- 
ship! She was still unable to walk, and her little 
sitting-room became the gathering-ground for the 
party. And many a sketch was made, from her sofa 
or easy-chair, of her four friends, in the various 
groupings into which they would drop uncon- 
sciously, until the major vowed he could n. ver sit 
comfortably lazy any more, for fear he might be 
ungraceful, and if he was in range of her eyes 
he knew his little captain would have an outline 
of his proportions on paper. 

Other eyes than his crept into her sketch-book 
in those days, in the days when he, her first friend, 
would bring pencil and tablet, and read aloud, now 
and then, bits of the new work he was busy on; a 
half-historical romance of the old Indian govern- 
ment of Long Island; and ah! how delightful it 
was to work so, feeling so close a soul that vibrated 


GALEED. 


239 


to every touch of feeling, to every subtle sense 
that to a creator of ideal work is as his own heart- 
beats. And then, as a guerdon for work well done, 
just a hand clasp — just the words: ‘‘ Itis good.” 
And what an insjjiration that presence was; what 
wild flights of fancy were led by her into realms 
of the imagination that had never been opened to 
him alone! 

‘‘You do help me. I think you are leaving the 
impress of your own personality on all my work,” 
he said to her one day when, on reading over the 
loose sheets, he was struck by the new music of 
words he had written as a narration, and that half 
unconsciously had taken coloring from this new 
vein of spring-time in his blood. “You are mak- 
ing of me a poor poet, where before I was but a 
chronicler.” 

“Then it has all been well, there is no cause 
for — for regret — to you?’ ’ 

He looked at her a moment. How close he had 
need to keep bonds on his speech, or his manner 
since the night of the storm, only himself knew. 
But, little by little, his earnest friendliness had 
reassured her; she seemed afraid no longer. In a 
way, she had convinced herself that he had been 
sorry for her that night. Yes, that was the 
foundation of his tenderness, and as for her own 
violent emotions, that was a memory at which 
she closed her eyes with a half-feeling of shame. 
Delicious it had been, just for that once to lie 
close in his arms that were so strong a shelter. 
Just for once to give soul for soul, through eyes 


240 


IN love’s domains. 


that were content to lie forever under the sea as 
a penalty for that sweetness of confession! Yes, 
it was worth all life she had ever known. But 
ah! the guilt of it! That ghost whose black, 
shadowy hand made a discord that echoed ever 
through the music of heart-throbs! For the first 
few days, she had not been able to look at him 
much, when speaking; her eyes would wander to 
the carpet, or across the meadow to the bay. But 
he had changed all that with his manner that was 
so frankly tender, so earnestly anxious to make 
her forget all things remorseful, by allowing her 
to believe that she, herself, had no serious cause 
for regret. 

‘‘ A kiss to a friend — one who understands you 
— and who will be proud of it always? Do not 
feel humiliated because of that; the only excuse 
for shame would be my own unworthiness, try to 
remember that I feel it so, and for my sake — ’ ’ 

Ah, yes, the guilt was past just as the storm 
was, and there was nothing to fear in this new 
firmness of friendshixD that gave them both 
their gladness of youth, with its atmosphere of 
innocence. Does that understanding of hearts 
bring always its own lease of life to the emotions 
— emotions that open wide their lips as blossoms 
in the sun, and send their fragrance heavenward? 

‘‘ Sometimes I feel a little afraid of these days 
— of this new, restful content — they give me a 
fear of a rude awakening, they are too perfect to 
last.” 

It was only the natural fear of a woman’ s heart 


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241 


that was dazed a little with the new gifts granted 
it, and he smiled at the fear — teasing her about 
those old superstitions of hers that he supposed 
extended to presentiments. 

“ Yes, I am superstitious in some things,” she 
acknowledged, ‘‘just little fancies of my own. 
And, lately — well, all the world seems changing 
for me. I am made to think of what may be, 
since nothing is as it was.” 

“But it is better with youf ’ 

“Yes, it is better; it will be better. I know 
that, when alone again, I shall never feel as I have 
felt, and the ‘have beens’ were very miserable 
sometimes. You have helped me from them — 
from more than I could tell you.” 

How full of the warmth and promise of the 
summer air were those confidences, and how full 
were those hours of the grand possibilities life 
held for each! Together in thought, helpful in 
sympathy, pure in design; those were the 
exchanges that had grown to be their hoi^e for the 
future. Their lives would be lived apart. Yes, 
that was an accepted fact they had never once 
dreamed of combating. But neither would ever 
again feej alone — souls and sympathies know no 
barriers of space, and a friendship such as that 
could bring no blame to their eyes, no wrong to 
anyone else. Sometimes he spoke to her, lately, 
of the girl he • was to marry, and now she could 
ask about her as it was impossible to do before; 
she was his, therefore she was of interest to his 
friend, so they had grown to think of it. And the. 

16 


242 


IN love’s domains. 


story of his own faults, he told to her, of his own 
deficiencies, that had not yet been able to lose 
him the liking of the girl who had promised to 
be his wife. He Spoke of her frankness, her 
gay ness, as he had known her for years. 

‘ ‘ Oh, yes, Blanche has known me for a long 
time, so there are no illusions to be dispelled — I 
do not think there ever were many on either 
side.” 

The ground for this topic was never quite safe, 
that is, neither felt quite at ease on it, though 
they tried to be so careful, lest the other would 
see it, and yet, simply because they were endeav- 
oring to follow duty, they mistakenly dreamed that 
they were honest. 

You like Fra Lippo ever so much more than 
you used to, don’t you, Judith?” queried Grace, 
complacently. “I never was quite sure, before, 
just how you were going to act with each other, if 
there w^as a party made up; of course you were 
always courteous, but both of you used to take 
ironical fits that were inclined to create an atmos- 
phere. I think it was you mostly — yes, I do — 
you would demolish some of his loveliest ideas 
with a glance, or a little laugh, but now — ’’ 
“Well — now?” suggested Mrs. Winans, teas- 
ingly. “You young romancer, what new 
material have you found?’ ’ 

“I find lots in Judith,” announced Grace, 
frankly; “ I was reading somewhere, lately, that 
artists must have in themselves the material for 
every character they create, and if Judith is an 


GALEED. 


243 


example, I believe it. At first, seeing her on the 
water alone, I imagined her a sort of salt-water 
Amazon, with her independence and her strong 
arms. Then, when I knew her, she was so calmly 
serene, so graciously sweet; even in her irony to 
Fra Lippo, she was beautiful — don’t listen, if 
you are afraid of being vain — but, since the ankle 
episode, I have forgotten I ever thought her only 
beautiful. She is so lovely now, in a soft way 
that — ’ ’ 

“Thanks, I don’t mind the adjectives. Don’t 
limit yourself,” laughed Judith. 

“ Well, not soft,” corrected Grace, reflectively, 
“but just lovable — yes, you are, dear. I used to 
admire you afar off, as I would something in mar- 
ble; but now, since you’ve been a cripple, you’ve 
changed into something so kissable that you’re a 
constant temptation. ’ ’ 

“Grace, I fear for your future,” said Mrs. 
Holmes, looking at her solemnly over a book of 
etchings; “for when you find that ideal lover of 
yours, that is to be, you will have used up all the 
pretty speeches, and his most ardent will seem 
rather second-hand affairs to you.” 

“Then I will teach him to coin new ones,” 
answered the girl, with youth’ s assurance. ‘ ‘ But, 
without joking, Judith, you really are always a 
sort of ‘ unexpected.’ Now, being tied to a lounge 
or a chair for nearly two weeks would bring out 
the worst side of any other person’s nature; but 
you — well you just sweeten like a persimmon 
when the frost comes.” 


244 


IN love’s domains. 


And, during the laugh at Grace’s simile, the 
major came, jolly and sun-burned, with the budget 
of mail from the office. 

‘‘ There, little cax)tain, is yours; all business 
envelopes. Do you never have any gossipy let- 
ters from your kind, like other women? And 
there is yours, Miss Grace. One froni papa, and 
one from Tom; and here, little woman, is yours, 
and one of them is from ‘ papa,’ also. This affair 
of chaperon is likely to be the occasion of coffee 
and pistols for two. And there are Alison’s. 
He is younger than I am, and can come for them. 
I weigh too much to trot upstairs;” and having 
delivered himself of letters and opinions, he set- 
tled himself to read the Herald, 

‘‘ Oh, Tom’s a darling!” burst out Grace, in 
exultation. “Yes, he is, he has helped me out 
of such a scrape with papa, you know, a lot of 
bother, because I spent too much money, and papa 
began to look it ujj and ask questions, and then 
Tom stepped in and helped me out. It was away 
last spring. He needn’t have made such a fuss 
about it now.” 

“No,” chimed in the major, in a suspiciously 
sympathetic tone. “Away last spring! where did 
the money go. Puss?’ ’ 

She smiled roguishly at him around the corner 
of his paper. 

“I’ll tell you,” she said, confidentially, 
“because you know how it is yourself. Well, the 
most of it went to Blanche Athol, at the Jerome 
Park races.” 


GALEED. 


245 


‘‘Um,” murmured the major, looking at her 
quizzically, as a big mastiif would at a little lap- 
dog, ‘ ‘ so you bet on the wrong horse?’ ’ 

“No, I didn’t. My betting was all right, but 
the wrong horse won.” 

“ Well, you have a treasure in a brother that 
helps you out of scrapes like that,” said the 
major, “ you’d better stick to him.’ ’ 

“Well, I rather guess I will,” answered the 
girl, with a sudden burst of affection. “ The 
dear boy! After all, men know best about every- 
thing, except the things a woman knows better. 
That is not original,” she added, as if averse to 
being credited with borrowed wit. 

“No,” said Mrs. Winans, reflectively; “it 
sounds familiar; who was it said that? George 
Eliot, was it not?” 

“Yes, that grand woman!” said Mrs. Holmes, 
looking up from a business-looking, type-written 
letter. 

“You admire her work so much?” asked the 
older woman. 

“Yes, thoroughly, and more than her work — I 
admire the woman herself — her bravery — her 
truth.’ ’ 

“You are an enthusiast.” 

“Yes, I am — on that subject — what a great 
heart!” 

“But not a model character — not just one’s 
idea of a good woman, you know,” said Mrs. 
Winans, rather doubtfully. 

“Not just one’s idea of most good women,” 


246 


. IN love’s domains. 


assented Mrs. Holmes, “because so many of 
them are only passively good. But she! ah, she 
was one in a thousand!” 

“But,” remonstrated Mrs. Winans, while the 
major dropped his paper at the tinge of interest 
in their tones, “but, really, Judith, you know 
that, morally, she was far from perfect.” 

“ I know she was not orthodox in her perfec- 
tions; but they, none the less, existed in my eyes, 
and I doubt if the world’s opinion of her person- 
ality touched her deeply. If so, to intercede for 
her, she left her work; it speaks, and will live to 
speak for her cleanness of soul.” 

“But her life was such a contradiction,” said 
the little lady. “I do not think I am unchar- 
itable, but I can not see in her a type to admire.” 

“ I do, for her bravery. A woman, sensitive as 
she was, must have required a strong motive for 
setting herself outside of the world’s approval. 
But the motive, to her, was the earnest, lasting 
need a human life had of her. I can think of 
none stronger.” 

‘ ‘ But, my dear, that may be admirable to you 
in the abstract, because of her work, that made 
amends for much. But think of it as an exam- 
ple, put yourself in her place, and I am sure you 
would have a higher code of morals as a guide.” 

“I’m not sure of it at all, and I don't believe 
I should have.” 

“Easy, easy, little captain!” broke in the major, 
“you’ll get yourself in discredit, just for the sake 
of an argument.” 


GALEED. 


247 


‘ ‘ I don’ t tliink it' s for tlie sake of the argument, ’ ’ 
answered Mrs. Holmes; “I am in earnest, andean 
understand the seriousness with which she 
changed her life for him, whether either Church 
or State aiDproved; what are Church or State that 
they should bind or loose the affections? One’s 
own soul is the best bondsman for one’s own life. 
If marriage is not an evil, then neither is that 
mutual sacrifice of self that bound those two.’ ’ 

‘‘My dear, I — really, one would think you dis- 
approved of marriage altogether,” said Mrs. 
Winans, a little distressed. She felt that those 
ideas of Judith’s were not right, yet knew that 
the wrong ideas had been bred by that strange, 
unfit childhood of hers, and crowned by a mistake 
of union, that left little idea of sanctity in the 
bond. How could one combat them, or condemn 
the origin without blame to a loved father, or a 
husband whom she, herself, never voluntarily men- 
tioned. 

“No, I do not disapprove of marriage, and the 
conventional form that governs it. It is right for 
those who want their vows to be registered like 
that. But suppose a marriage like this one we 
speak of, one in which the common custom could 
not be followed, now why should their lives and 
their life-work be spoiled for lack of a form 
that surely has little weight with God, for, with 
different nations, there are different fashions in 
giving such vows, and none are willing to say: 
‘ Ours is the wrong.’ ” 

“Well, it is lucky most women do not think 


248 


IN love’s domains. 


like that,” remarked the major, dryly, ‘‘else 
society would be left without much stability.” 

“ I doubt whether God will judge souls from 
their standing toward society so much as from 
their honesty to themselves, and each other, in 
following the instincts He gave them when He gave 
them breath.” 

“Dear me, Judith,” said Mrs. Winans, com- 
plainingly; “you are such a curious compound. 
Just as Grace said, ‘ You are always just the thing 
no one expects you to be.’ You are advocating a 
theory that would shock all your sense of refine- 
ment if put into practice by those near you.” 

“Am I so inconsistent?” asked Mrs. Holmes. 
“Ah, well, my opinion makes no difference in 
the right or wrong of it, only I never can hear 
George Eliot classed among the immoral without 
feeling antagonistic. To me she seemed an honest, 
brave woman, and I think she seemed so to him.” 

Nothing more was said on the subject, and the 
conversation drifted to other topics. But, inside 
the window of the parlor, Alison’s ears had been 
drawn into listening, carelessly at first, but at the 
finish there was a strange look in the eyes gazing 
so fixedly ahead of him. A mirror was opposite, 
and in it he for an instant saw himself as he was, 
and something in his face must have been an 
unpleasant revelation, for he jumped to his feet. 

“No, by God!” 

Whatever the oath was for, it did not tend to 
make him social, for, witliout going to claim his 
letters that lay just outside the window, he picked 


GALEED. 


249 


np liis hat, and making his exit by the back door, 
struck out across the fields, and their host, 
returning from buying vegetables back in the 
country, brought word he had met Mr. Alison, 
who said to tell his friends he was going back to 
the Montauk settlement, possibly to Hampton, 
and might not return until next day. 

‘‘Dear me,” said Mrs. Winans, regretfully. 
“ How strange he did not mention it at breakfast! 
Really, we have grown to seem like a little family, 
and one absentee breaks the circle.” 

“ Especially if it is a Don Juan who breaks 
ladies’ bones for the sake of carrying them, and 
flirts with another until her own husband scarcely 
ever gets a chance to say even ‘ How do you do ’ 
to her,” grunted the major, in mock jealousy; 
“now I’ve got the three of you on my hands. 
Miss Grace, you will have to exist on my devotion 
until to-morrow, and I’ll begin by beating you at 
poker, five-cent ante.” 

“ You’ll have to trust me for your winnings 
then,” answered the girl; “but I do wonder what 
took Fra Lippo away like that, not saying a word 
even to me. Perhaps he has a dusky Minnehaha 
back there for a sweetheart, and fears my jeal- 
ousy,” she hazarded, complacently. “I’ 11 get the 
cards. Come over here, major, where the sun 
won’t strike us.” 

But the one member of the party who thought 
most of his abrupt leave said nothing, only all the 
day was long to her without the sound of his 
voice. 


250 


IN love’s domains. 


CHAPTER XI. 

Yet I feel that I shall stand 
Henceforward in thy shadow. Nevermore 
Alone upon the threshold of my door 
Of individual life. 

The lame ankle was mending, and the morning 
after the discussion of George Eliot the invalid 
limped out on the verandah with the aid of the 
major' s cane, and avowed her intention of taking 
a good walk before she was a week older. What 
a glorious morning it seemed to her! how the 
birds twittered in the early sunshine! how the 
dew diamonds glittered in the grass! and how 
sweet those red roses smelled as they clambered 
over the wall of their next door neighbor! And 
through all the freshness of the new day every 
heart-beat said: ‘^So much nearer his coming — 
but a little while longer to wait.” 

It was friendship, so they told each other, but 
had either of them ever guessed before how dear 
a thing friendship could be? Only a few days 
before, in speaking of the help it had been to the 
work of each, he had said: “It is the sweetest 
happiness of my life.” To be sure he tried to 
modify it a little in a later speech, and flattered 
himself on doing it ingeniously. But, this beau- 
tiful morning, all the modifications disappeared as 
vapors in the sun’s warmth. All the tenderness 


O AIjEKD, 


251 


of his tones came back to her; all the content in 
his eyes as he had looked at her. Yes, he was 
only her friend; their bond was, they had told 
themselves, one without selfish ends, without 
passion. Theirs should be an affection such as 
Christ commanded when He said: Love ye one 
another.” All that was dross was to be set aside 
in their natures, so they had told this new ideal 
in visionary fashion, and so they had meant and 
hoped to be honest. 

But, waiting for him through the warmth of the 
June morning, her want of him was very human. 
She watched the steamer move stately through the 
bay waters, and could see away down the road the 
tourists crossing to the village from the dock. 
She watched two birds pulling at a great earth 
worm, preparing to carry it, no doubt, to little ones 
at home. She tried to talk to the others, but 
beautiful with all promise as the morning seemed 
to her, yet she did not feel like talking. Yo, if 
he was here she did not think they would talk. 
But she knew then that the day, even in silence, 
would be complete. 

At last, when noon was close and he had not 
returned, she went back to her little sitting-room. 

“I will see him just as soon,” she thought, and 
smiled at the surety of his seeking her. Some of 
his late work she began to read over until he 
came. ‘ ‘ They are his thoughts if not himself, ’ ’ she 
said, and so tried to settle herself to content, 
picking out the bits for illustration, jotting down 
ideas for the work she intended doing for it. 


252 


IN love’s domains. 


Suddenly she heard a step— surely his step — in 
the hall below, then on the stairs, and then — no, 
that was not his knock, there was a strange ring 
to it, and she called, ‘‘Come in,” wondering who 
it was. 

The door opened and Alison entered, closing it 
behind him, and looking at hejf without moving 
or even speaking. 

“I thought I knew both your step and your 
knock by this time,” she said, looking up smil- 
ingly; “but I never heard you raj) like that 
before.” 

“No?” 

How strange that entrance and greeting seemed 
to her, after her dreams of the morning. Just 
that flash of thought came to her, and then — 

“ She is here — I — I came first to tell you.” 

“ She?” Ah! how far away his face grew as in 
a mist! She rose to her feet saying nothing more. 

“Blanche. They wrote yesterday, but I missed 
the word by leaving.” There was silence for a 
little, then he said: “I — I do not know what to 
say to you.” 

How strange his face looked to her, and how 
white, but his words roused her. 

“There is nothing to say,” she answered, and 
her voice, very low as it was, seemed to be as 
strange as his face. “ It is sudden, and — and that 
is all.” 

His gaze disturbed her as much as the sudden- 
ness of his announcement. He looked at her so 
steadily, as if all his heart was in his eyes. The 


GALEED. 


253 


cloak of friendship was gone from his manner; 
but what was this sprite that had taken its 
place? 

They are coming — here from the hotel to see 
— the others; will you come down?” 

She looked at him for an instant, and then tried 
to speak naturally. “ I — I — ” 

My friend.” 

He took a step nearer, holding out his hand 
to her as he spoke. 

“Yes,” she said, calmly, “ I will come down. I 
am glad you came to tell me; but — but please 
go away now.” 

And loosening her hand, she turned from him, 
heard him touch the handle of the door, and then 
in another iiistant he had crossed the room, and 
his arms were about her, his head bent so low, so 
closely above her face. 

“Try to forgive,” he whispered; but the sen- 
tence, whatever it was intended to be, had its 
finale drowned by the closeness of his mouth 
against her cheek. 

She did not speak, did not even try to look at 
him. One hand she raised to his as if to loosen its 
clasp about her, but the hand was as unruly as 
her heart, and was held so fondly that it left her 
helpless. 

“Listen to me,” he said, in a quiet way, still 
not moving, still holding her close: “I have not 
been honest as we hoped to be. Yesterday, I 
knew it. That is why I left. I came back to 
tell you the truth and go away. But now — ” 


254 


IN love’s domains. 


All the contingencies to be met and battled 
with, all the double life to be lived under her 
eyes left his speech a broken fragment. 

“I understand,” she answered. “You can not 
leave now that — they have come.” She heard him 
breathe, in a half whisper, a low, sweet title of 
tenderness, and it helped her to add: “ Do not be 
afraid for me, I will be — strong. I mean you 
shall see how hard I will try to be — your friend.” 

“My friend,” he echoed, as if in half -mockery 
of himself. “Ah, dear! my dear, if I could only 
be more worthy!” 


CHAPTER XII. 

Be it my wrong, you are from me exempt; 

But wrong not that wrong with a more contempt. 

Comedy of Errors. 

“ A^ou are not at all what I expected to see from 
Dale's letters,” said Miss Athol, bluntly, two 
days later, when, at a lunch arranged by Mrs. 
Winans, the new-comers were entertained in an 
impromptu, charming fashion. The major, Alison, 
and a little nephew of Blanche’s had adjourned 
to the porch, and the ladies were left chatting 
over the strawberries and cake, and the tea that 
was served in Russian fashion. 

“It is delicious,” said Blanche, sipping hers 
slowly. “But the taste of it is always associated 
in my mind with dead men under the snow, and 


GALEED. 


255 


sombre J ewisli faces with red eyes, because I first 
drank it so at Yerestchagin’s exhibition last 
fall.” 

“Those pictures must have been a great treat,” 
said Mrs. Holmes. “ I was South, so did not get 
to see them, much to my own regret.” 

“Nellie raved over them,” said Blanche, desig- 
nating her sister, Mrs. Julian, who, as Grace had 
said, was trying to act as chaperon to this speci- 
men of contemi)oraneous girlhood. 

“ I should imagine they deserved it,” remarked 
Mrs. Holmes, trying so hard to be interested in 
this girl who was to be his wife, and only ending 
by a wonder as to what her charm had been for 
him. For, dasliy, beautifully dressed, and 
assertive, she had in her long brown eyes and her 
tousled blonde head a magnetism that did not 
communicate itself to her own sex. 

“Oh, I don’t know,” she said, in answer to 
Mrs. Holmes. “They were, of course, if one 
u ants to go into the realistic order of the artistic 
craze. Nellie does, you know. She would have 
pictures on her walls if she didn’ t have clothes to 
wear. But, for my part, those Russian things 
made me tired. I mean the big, weighty things. 
Why, they make one feel so insignificant.” 

“ I told her it was because they had more soul 
in one of their painted faces than she had in her 
whole body,” remarked Mrs. Julian, with sisterly 
frankness. 

“Well, perhaps,” assented Blanche, indiffer- 
ently. “ Only I did not see much to rave about. 


256 


IN love’s domains. 


since, in the whole collection, there was not a 
single face of a pretty woman.” 

“ Are you so in love with pretty women?” asked 
Grace. This was a subject interesting to herself, 
all her romantic heroines forming extraordinary 
attractions in that line. 

“ I don’t know about being in love with them,” 
answered Blanche, coolly, her eyes glancing 
across her cup at Mrs. Holmes’ clear-cut, softly- 
curved profile. ‘ ‘ But I do like to look at them — 
in pictures.” 

‘‘I like to look at the originals,” announced 
Grace, with a malignant frown at the red, smiling 
mouth and the brown eyes. She alone had seen 
the glance that accomx)anied Blanche’s speech, 
and, like a loyal champion, was ready for battle 
— perhaps incited thereto by the memory of 
sundry lost dollars which Blanche had pocketed 
with that same sort of equivocal smile. 

And then, from a discussion on faces in general, 
and women’s faces in particular, had arisen that 
remark of Blanche’s. ‘‘No, you are not at all as I 
expected to see you from Dale’s letters.” 

“No?” and she tried to speak carelessly. “I 
did not imagine myself of sufficient interest for 
description.” 

“Oh, yes, you were — to him,” said Blanche, 
frankly. “He used to talk of you a great deal 
when you made those first illustrations — he was 
so charmed with your ideas and conception of the 
characters.” 

“ I am very glad; it was a pleasure to do the 


GALEED. 


257 


work,” she answered, and wondered, as she spoke, 
how she could sit still and hear this girl’s cool 
discussion of his thoughts and her personality. 

“ It was lovely work. I do not wonder he was 
so pleased,” said Mrs. Julian. ‘‘I doubt if he 
could have found anyone to carry out his ideas as 
you did, Mrs. Holmes. We thought it wonderful, 
as you had no personal knowledge of each other.” 

‘‘Yes,” went on Blanche; “Nellie and Dale 
both raved about them, until Mrs. Holmes seemed 
a member of the family. But, gradually. Dale 
dropped out of the craze, that is, he kept quiet in 
his wondering as to who you were and wdiat you 
were like. PerhaiDS,” and she laughed a little, 
looking at Mrs. Holmes curiously, “perhaps 
because I teased him.” 

“Blanche!” said Mrs. Julian, with a look of 
irritation; but the woman discussed only glanced 
up calmly, her brows raised ever so slightly. 

“What is it, Nellie?” asked Blanche, inno- 
cently, in an exasperatingly -unconscious manner, 
and then she turned again to Mrs. Holmes. ‘ ‘ I am 
always saying something she disap j)roves of; she 
will tell me, when she gets me home, that I show 
bad taste. But, you see, I did tease him about 
Mrs. Holmes — it wasn’t you, you know — only 
the name. But he had puzzled so over your per- 
sonality, until, if we were out together — he and I 
—I was always picking out the most grotesque 
creatures I could see, and calling them Mrs. 
Holmes, and prophesying that if he ever met you 
he would find you looked like some of them.’’ 

17 


258 


m love’s domains. 


‘‘Grotesque!” said Grace, so indignantly that 
the rest could not help laughing at her energy, 
as she crossed to her paragon’ s chair, and leaned 
over the bronze head lovingly. “Well, if you want 
to find anything grotesque, Blanche Athol, you 
don’t want to come to this end of the table.” 

“ Grace!” said Mrs. Winans, in a softer copy of 
Mrs. Julian’s tone. Evidently, from the aggressive 
attitude of Grace, the two chaperons were likely 
to have trouble with their charges. 

“Oh, you little goose!” said Blanche, laughing 
until the tears were in her eyes; “don’t be silly. 
I am sure I beg Mrs. Holmes’ pardon, now that I 
know her; but none of us knew her then, so I was 
not treading on anyone’s sensibilities — I don’t 
dare say corns, for Nellie’s looking. And do 
you know, Mrs. Holmes, when Dale wrote me he 
had been so fortunate as to meet you, he wouldn’t 
write me a line as to how you looked, or whether 
my prophecies were correct, or anything; wasn’t 
that revengef ulf ' 

“It was just right,” said Grace, promptly. 

“ And,” continued Blanche, “when I asked him 
by letter, he said all sorts of lovely things about 
your character and your goodness. But I fully 
expected to find a motherly, matronly soul, with a 
semi-religious turn of mind — the sort that keeps 
tracts on their tables instead of the latest maga- 
zines. So, as I said, you were an agreeable sur- 
prise to me.” 

“Did you say itf’ asked Mrs. Holmes in her 
clearest, coolest tones. “I did not hear you.” 


GALEED. 


259 


And then she turned to Grace, laughingly protest- 
ing against that young gormand having another 
dish of berries. And Blanche Athol, watching her 
lovely face with a half-attraction, half-antago- 
nism, felt herself courteously cut. 

“Who is she, anyway?” she asked, supercili- 
ously, of her as he walked home with her 

to their hotel. “ One would think her a princess 
incognito from that air she has.” 

“I am sorry you feel so,” he answered; “I wish 
you could know her better; she is a woman in a 
thousand.” 

“Yes, no doubt,” said Blanche, ironically; 
“ but a woman in a thousand may mean anything. 
What particular part of the thousand does she 
belong to?’ ’ 

“I think we had better not discuss Mrs. 
Holmes, since you take that tone,” he said, 
quietly. “I have too high a regard for her 
friendship to hear her misunderstood.” 

“Yes?” and she glanced up at him with those 
long brown eyes that were so worldly-wise, 
despite the girlish chatter. She was rather 
inclined to be antagonistic that evening, no mat- 
ter what the subject in hand was. She had come 
to the quiet little place against her will. It had 
been Nellie’s doings, for which Blanche knew 
that Nellie had reasons, and she felt in her bones 
that she would tell Dale what the reasons were, 
and she was not sure how Dale would take them. 
To be sure, he had always been carelessly good- 
natured with any of her larkings in the past — of 


260 


m love’s domains. 


which there had been several. She thought of 
that as they walked across the meadow to the 
village street, and stealing a questioning glance 
at his set mouth and his sombre eyes, she won- 
dered if, after all, he might be rather bard to 
manage, despite his quiet acceptance of the past. 

‘‘To be sure, he hadn’t much but the shelter of 
glass houses himself, in those first days,” she rea- 
soned, refiectively, “ and, consequently, could not 
afford to spout the lesser order of things; but since 
he has been so painfully correct that his best 
friends wouldn’t know him — well, there’s no 
knowing wbat sort of a crank he may develop 
into.” And then, remembering his tone in speak- 
ing of this new acquaintance that they all seemed 
to bow to, she felt an impish desire to tease him, 
beside harrowing her own awakened curiosity. 
She felt that she was likely to have a scene with 
him and Nellie before leaving the miserable little 
place, anyway, and with the reckless willingness 
to be hung for a sheep, instead of a lamb, she 
remarked: 

“I see you haven’t been wasting any time 
down here, from Mrs. Winans’ thrilling account 
of your late adventure. A sprained ankle is such 
an interesting foundation for the dignified order 
of high-class friendships; a rather new style of 
thing for you, isn’ t it?’ ’ 

That one cool glance, and the one cool speech 
from Mrs. Holmes had irritated her more than a 
woman usually could, and added to it Mr. Ali- 
son’s words of regard that made her resentful. 


GALEED. 


261 


She was furious at being snubbed for this clear- 
eyed woman, as she had been by both her sister 
and her fiance. And he, looking at her as she 
spoke, wondered how he had ever been amused 
by this sulky little creature, or how he had found 
her free speech and her air of 'bonhomie so 
charming. 

I do not feel in the mood for jests over what 
might have been a serious affair to a friend,” he 
said, in a cold, terse sort of way that told her of 
repressed anger. ‘‘As to my ovm style of friends 
in the past, the fact of changing them should, I 
think, receive a different reception from you. A 
weeding out of our past companionships would 
not be detrimental to either of us.” 

“I wonder what he means by that?” she 
thought; but aloud she said: “Speak for your- 
self, please; do you want to begin with me?” 

They had reached the hotel by this time, and at 
the stei3s he paused. 

‘ ‘ I think I had better not come in this even- 
ing,” he said, quietly; “to-morrow you may be in 
a more tractable mood.” 

“ Yes, I am likely to be,” she said, ironically; 
“ neglect is so apt to have a soothing effect on the 
temper.” 

“ I have not knowingly neglected you at any 
time,” he answered, decidedly, and stood doubt- 
fully leaning against the porch railing. He felt 
guilty of much, but knew that this was only a pet- 
tish accusation raised as an excuse for much that 
was in bad taste. But the fault to her, of which 


262 


IN love’s domains. 


he had been guilty, made him more patient than 
he could otherwise have been, feeling, as he did, 
that he must do what he could to make amends. 
She tapped her foot impatiently on the painted 
floor of the hotel porch. 

“You were not at all glad to see me,” she said 
at last, in a disputive way. 

“ As much so as you were to come, I believe,” 
he answered, “that is, if one can trust little 
pitchers with big ears,” referring to her little 
nephew, Howard Julian. 

“Oh, of course, if you intend to listen to a 
child's chatter,” she began, in a lofty tone of dis- 
dain. He looked at her as if waiting for the fin- 
ished sentence, but there seemed to be no more 
of it. 

“ See. here, Blanche,” he said, in a conciliatory 
way; “it is very foolish to build up imaginary 
grievances of this sort. If you had let our mar- 
riage take place in the spring, as I asked you, 
there would have been no cause for this misunder- 
standing, for we should not have been sepa- 
rated.” 

But for some reason the marriage was not a 
thing Blanche cared to discuss. 

‘ ‘ That is no reason why you can’ t come in the 
parlor now,” she answered, in a skirmishing fash- 
ion, fighting shy of the main line. 

“Certainly not,” he agreed; “but try to be a 
little more like yourself, Blanche; something has 
changed you this summer.” 

But he followed her into the parlor, when, after 


GALEED. 


26B 


a short chat with herself and sister, he left, and 
walked out, out under the stars, a long way ere 
he thought of returning for rest or sleep. 

After he had gone, Blanche turned to her sister. 

‘‘Have you told Dale anything?” she asked, 
abruptly. 

“ Anything?” in a non-commital way. 

“ Oh, you know what I mean; any of that non- 
sensical idea you got in your head about — ’ ' 

“Was it so nonsensical?” asked the older 
woman, keenly. 

“ Did you tell him?” was all Blanche said. 

“No, I didn’t, but I will,” answered Mrs. Jul- 
ian, looking at her squarely; “that is, if you 
don’t either break your engagement, or behave 
more as you know he would like you.” 

‘ ‘ I don’ t think you need trouble yourself about 
his wishes, when he hides himself out in those 
world-forgotten places, instead of coming where 
we were for the summer.” 

“You don’t remember, then, your own deter- 
mination for going to the other side this summer. 
Dale has work to do, and laid his plans accord- 
ingly. Try to have some consideration.” 

“ Oh, dear!” said the girl, in a tired way. “ I do 
wish you would all let me alone. Why would you 
persist in stopping here? Just to frighten me, I 
suppose. If you would only have let me be, and 
not nagged so at me, I never would have hunted 
up someone else for pastime, and now — ” She 
stopped rather unsteadily, and after a little Nellie 
crossed over to her. 


264 


IN love’s domains. 


“ Blanche, are you crying?” she asked, in slow 
surprise. Blanche as a IS'iobe was rather a rarity 
to her relatives. 

“Well, what of it?” she retorted, rebelliously. 
“ I wish I had never seen Dale Alison, since I am 
to be made miserable through him. I will go 
where I want to, where I won’ t see 'any of you, 
if — if this sort of thing goes on.” 

“What sort of thing?” asked Nellie, coolly, 
not much affected by this emotional tendency, 
because she felt that its origin was, for the most 
part, temper. But Blanche made no reply, and 
after a little her sister continued: 

“I stopped here to give you a chance to see 
him, and because Ned, as your guardian, insisted 
on us coming this way. He likes Dale, and will 
not have him trifled with by you. And if it is 
done in the future, he says decidedly that Dale 
shall not be kept in ignorance of it, and that I 
shall not chaperon you. Now, there is the whole 
affair. ’ ’ 

There was silence for a little w^hile, and then 
Blanche arose and stood looking out of the win- 
dow into the gathering darkness. 

“ So your lord and master has laid down his 
rules for me, has he?” she queried, ironically, 
with her back to Mrs. Julian; “and this is my 
last chance. Well, 3^011 can tell him for me that 
I ma}^ not need a chaperon a great while.” 

“ You mean you are going to marry Dale this 
summer, after all?” 

“ I don’t know. I’m sure. By the time Ned and 


GALEED. 


265 


you get through with your messages of me, he 
may not do me the honor to want me. Good- 
night. ” 


CHAPTER XIII. 

And to most of us erfe we go down to the grave, 

Life, relenting, accords the good gift we would have; 

But as though by some strange imperfection in fate, 

The good gift, when it comes, comes a moment too late. 

Meredith. 

“And SO we are. going to Xorthport,” said 
Grace to Mrs. Julian. “Judith’s foot is so much 
better, she is sure she can make the journey all 
right. You see we can go all the way by steamer. ” 

“ And do you all move whenever Mrs. Holmes 
makes it her pleasure to do so?” 

It was Blanche who asked this, and who in 
some way had failed to make any closer acquaint- 
ance with the subject of their discourse. 

“ Xo, we do not, though we would all be glad 
to,” said Grace, stoutly; “we always intended 
going there. I am to go because the Winans are 
going, and papa left me in their care for six weeks 
yet. And Judith says she has still a month to 
put in at some of the nooks on the island, so she 
goes with us. Poor dear, we would have gone 
before this, but for her accident.” 

“ And we are going to-morrow,” said Howard, 
gleefully; ‘ ‘ and back to Ocean Grove. P m awfully 
glad; only I wish Dale would come, too, instead of 


266 


IN love’s domains. 


staying here and hunting up things about Indians 
that’s nearly all dead. I like him better than — ” 

‘ ‘ There, there, never mind about your prefer- 
ences,” broke in Blanche, “but take that ball 
and your fishing-tackle out on the porch.” 

“ So you are going— so soon?” said Alison, when 
the major had told him of their plans. 

“Why not say, ‘so late’?” Mrs. Holmes 
returned, smiling rather dubiously, but not look- 
ing at him. Their exchange of glances or words 
had been few under this new order of comrade- 
ship that had superseded the old. It was not easy 
for them to talk commonplaces, knowing, as they 
did, the state of each other’s mind. 

“Have the days been so hard to you?” he 
asked, in answer to her words. ‘ ‘ How have you 
been living them?” 

“ Trying to think a little, and finding myself a 
failure, I fear.” 

“Come, sit down here,” he said, drawing a 
chair up to the window of her sitting-room, 
where he had gone to see her on hearing she was 
to leave. ‘ ‘ I want to ask you something, and am 
not sure how you will think of me for it, but — ’ ’ 

“ I am not likely to have very ill thoughts of 
you at any time,” she answered. “What is it?” 

“ Have you ever thought — do you ever think of 
getting a divorce?” 

All question of her marriage had been avoided 
always between them. There never had been any 
word of the cause that had left her life so alone, 
and remembering the conversation that day on 


galep:d. 


267 


the sands when he had first heard her story, he 
could easily understand how it would be unpleas- 
ant to sj)eak of. But now — 

It seemed as if they sat there a longtime before 
she said: Yes, I have thought of it. My friends 
have spoken to me of it. I do not think I will 
ever be divorced.” 

‘‘ Some time you may want more freedom. 
What then?” 

‘‘Why do you ask now?” she said, closing her 
eyes in a tired way. “ It does not matter. Noth- 
ing matters much.” 

“Don’t speak like that,” he said, gently. 
“Everything matters to me that concerns you. 
You know that. And now, when you are going 
away — well, is it so strange that I should think of 
the future?” 

‘ ‘ The lack of a divorce will make no difference 
with my future,” she said, dropping lier eyes 
under his gaze. “I will always be alone — just 
the same.” 

“And he?” 

“ He never wants to re-marry — thinking it was 
had enough to make the mistake once. He would 
— w'ould take care of me still if I would allow it. 
And so you can see I could make no a]3iDlication 
for divorce without doing so on grounds that — I 
can’t speak of it to you. Don’t ask me!” 

She rose and stood by the window, her face 
turned slightly from him. But he could see she 
was much agitated. He reached out his hand 
and clasped hers earnestly. There was nothing 


268 


IN love’s domains. 


he could say to her, knowing that there must be 
memories of heart -sickness into which no one 
could bring words of comfort. After a little she 
turned round. 

What makes you have such faith in me?” 
she asked, abruptly, half cynically. “How do 
you know it is not I who am in the wrong — not 
hel You may be taking me too much at my own 
valuation. You should not be too credulous.” 

“You have no right to say such things of me,”, 
he said, clasping her hand a little closer, and 
feeling the unwilling fingers tremble in his 
own. 

“ He had no faith,” she said, after a little; “ he 
never believed in me, not in any woman, and 
through that life I grew to lose faith for so long 
that I wonder sometimes at you. You seem so 
steadfast.” 

“You lifted me into faith, into much that will 
do me good so long as I live,” he answered. 
“You can not imagine that I shall forget.” 

“ Will you not forget?” she asked, turning to 
him, suddenly. “ Are you so sure you will never 
forget?” 

“I am so sure.” 

“That is good to think,” she said, smiling down 
at him rather uncertainly. “It is selfish to ask 
you to be unfaithful to someone else. I never 
really would want to tliink you unfaitliful to any- 
thing that seemed to you duty — only-only, I 
would like to think that the memory of this sum- 
mer’s friendship will always be pleasant to you, 


GALEED. 


269 


and helpful, as much so as I am sure it will be to 
me; that will not be a wrong to your — to your 
duties of life; surely, not when we say good-bye 
and go away as we are to do.” 

“You speak always of guarding my duties,” 
he said, suddenly, “ what of your own?” 

She looked at him questioningiy. 

“You mean to the man I married?” she asked. 
He had never once heard her say, “my husband.” 

“Yes.” 

“I have none,” she answered, quietly. “Oh! 
don’t look at me like that! I can’t tell you why; 
but I never feel that I have any duties to him. 
He knows it. I have told him he must never 
expect them again, and he does not.” 

“ My poor friend! You must have had much 
unhapi3iness before you could come to such a 
decision.” 

“ I had,” she answered, her eyes touched with 
tears at his tenderness of manner, and then with 
a sudden change that was half -grotesque — “So 
had he; you don’t ever seem to think how misera- 
ble the poor man must have been.” 

“ For God’s sake, don’t talk like that,” he said, 
jumping up and laying his hand heavily on her 
shoulder, “ and stop laughing. I can’t stand every- 
thing; I can’t have you speak in that mockery of 
what has, I can see, been misery. I know how 
close that sort of mockery comes to reckless- 
ness.” 

The nervous laughter broke into a half-sob as 
she dropped her head low on her shoulder where 


270 


IN love’s domains. 


liis hand lay, and pressing her cheek against it, 
she said, in a tremulous way that seemed akin to 
contrition; 

‘‘Yes, you know, I told you that day how much 
I was afraid of — of growing reckless again, afraid 
to trust myself. They have always thought me 
so cold and so strong. You alone know how 
much I have needed help. Ah! why did you ever 
come to me? or — ” 

‘ ‘ Or, why must I ever go away?’’ he said, finish- 
ing the question that had filled both their hearts 
for so many days; and then, in a quiet, dispassion- 
ate sort of way, he added, “ Sometimes I have felt 
like saying that I will not.” 

“ Don’t!” she said, aroused suddenly to all the 
meaning in those words. “ Don’t ever say that. 
It is bad enough for me to be weak sometimes. 
You must try to be strong for us both.” 

She looked at him so helplessly, so appealingly, 
that his hand slipped from her shoulder down 
along the round, full arm to her fingers, which 
he raised to his lips. 

“You are asking a hard thing of a man when 
you ask one to guard you from himself,” he said, 
earnestly, “and I wonder sometimes if I am 
equal to it. ’ ’ 

She tried to draw her fingers away, but his own 
closed over them too closely. 

“No,” he said, between his shut teeth, half 
lovingly, half grimly. “No, you can’t go until I 
release you. Shall I, or shall I not? Ah! you 
beautiful thing ! ’ ’ 


GALEED. 


271 


It is not because of that,” she began, and he 
answered: 

“ No, it is not because of that. But a man can 
not but see if he has eyes.” After a little, his 
clasp relaxed, and when he spoke again, it was in 
a different tone Each felt instinctively that his 
change of theme and manner was a step retraced 
from a cliff over which they had glanced, and 
that had left them a little dizzy. 

‘‘You are going to-morrow?” he asked, and 
she answered, “Yes, in the morning.” 


CHAPTER XIV. 

On the northern shore of the island lies the 
village of Northport, where the waters of the 
Sound kiss with cool lips the wooded bits that 
cluster so close to the pebbles. Its two streets, 
one along the shore, and the other straiglit back 
from the water, in the narrow valley between the 
hills, are rather gay in the summer time, the 
strays from the city vrandering along the shores 
and through the Avoods in search of vitality 
absorbed through the winter by the cobble stones 
and furnace-heat. 

The post-office is the rendezvous for all those 
aliens, and Grace was one of the habituals — she 
and the major generally belonging to the crowd 
that loafed around the door, or on the hotel 
porch, a few steps away, until the mail was sur- 


272 


IN love’s domains. 


rendered by the ‘‘bus” driver, and sorted by the 
official who has double work through the summer 
season. 

Grace, for all her vein of the romantic, had a 
most prosaic longing for the matter-of-fact chron- 
icles of the daily press. One of the New Yorkiest 
of girls, she was always eager for news of lives 
lived to the clang of the streets, and under the 
glimmer of gas-jets. 

And the major was one of the men who always 
read the political articles first, yet never went to 
the polls; so he and Grace were the newspaper 
fiends of their little party, that had, since their 
last move, dwindled down to a quartette. They 
went for the mail together, and stumbled back 
along the little street, sometimes reading as they 
went. 

“It’s all we have to enliven us since we left 
Fra Lippo,” complained Grace, when laughed at 
by the other ladies for her newsy appetite. 
“Yes, it is. Mrs. Winans acknowledges she is 
disconsolate without his charming attentions — he 
is a lonely man, Judith — oh, I know you are too 
independent ever to need anyone, or let yourself 
miss them much. But I know if it had been me 
he had carried in his arms, and been so anxious 
over, I — well I would do him the honor to regret 
him, at any rate.” 

“I am sure I do regret him; he is a very 
charming gentleman, a very pleasant compan- 
ion.” 

“ Oh, yes! but you say that so carelessly. Y^ou 


GALEED. 


273 


are lovely, J udith, but in many ways you are so 
cool — as if nothing impressed you very deeply.-’ 

“What would you have me?’,’ asked Mrs. 
Holmes, smilingly. “What you call a gusher?” 

“Just imagine Judith that, can you, Mrs. 
Winans? No: but I know Fra Lippo was sorry 
to have us leave; awfully sorry; and when he 
went to leave the boat you didn’t seem to notice 
how lonesome he looked, and I thought at the 
time that your ‘ Good-bye, Mr. Alison, 1 hope to 
hear your Indian article will be a success,’ 
sounded to me just as you would say ‘ Good- 
night, Mr. Alison, I hope to hear at breakfast 
that you rested well.’ Yes, it did; it was just as 
careless as that.” 

“Oh Grace, Grace!” laughed Mrs. Winans; 
‘ ‘ you are always putting your friends in need of 
an imaginary champion that you may have a 
chance to fill the role. I never thought of his 
being lonesome; I was selfishly thinking of our- 
selves; but he — I’m sure he had his sweetheart 
there for another day, and that would console 
him.” 

“Would it?” asked the girl, grimly, with a 
knowing look. “Well, if I wanted consolation 
for anything I wouldn’ t hunt up Blanche Athol 
as high priestess.” 

“Perhaps not,” remarked Mrs. Holmes; “for 
I don’t think you are fond of each other; but you 
see it is different with them since they are to be 
married.” 

“Are they?” queried the girl, in that same 
18 


274 


m love’s domains. 


ambiguous way. “Well, Blancliecan be awfully 
swell if slie wants to, and awfully ‘ taking ’ with 
men. But she seemed to have left all sweetness 
somewhere else this trij). She was just as aggra- 
vating as she could be to Nellie, and to Fra 
Lij)po, too. I would like to have seen him lose 
his temper and box her ears the day we went 
yachting.” 

“ If he had, you would have missed a piece of 
wedding-cake,” smiled Mrs. Winans. “Think 
of that!” 

“ I wouldn’t care; I’d have gone without wed- 
ding-cake for the rest of my natural life.” 

“That’s a sweex)ing statement!” said Mrs. 
Holmes. “ What about your own? Would you 
forego that for the sake of seeing Miss Athol’ s 
ears boxed?’ ’ 

“ Oh, Grace is a little schemer,” said the major, 
slyly. “Don't you see the method in the mad 
desire? Boxed ears mean broken engagement- 
free Fra Lippo — sympathizing little girl who 
catches a heart in the rebound — and then — well, a 
prospect of wedding-cake galore, and a musical- 
literary partnership. How is that for a plot, eh?” 

Grace only put out her lips at him and looked 
her scorn. 

‘ ‘ I think he was wonderfully patient with her, 
anyway,” she persisted. 

“ He understands, perhaps, that betrothal is a 
sort of novitiate course,” said Mrs. Winans. 
‘ ^ Husbands require much patience. ' ’ 

“Well, I’m sure yours doesn’t,” contested 


GALEED. 


275 


Grace, whose best arguments had always personal 
application. 

“Oh ho! don’t I, though?” queried the major, 
lugubriously, behind his paper. “Listen to the 
innocent.” 

“ The strain on your patience has no bad effect 
on your avoirdupois, at all events,” retorted the 
girl, and after a little, apropos of nothing — “I 
think someone else is ahead of me in my scheme 
for that dissolution, from things little Howard 
was observing enough to note.” 

One of her listeners grew hot and cold in an 
instant at that significant speech. What did it 
mean? Had she been so blind as to show even to 
children the miseries she had thought so well 
hidden? 

“What do you mean?” she asked, squarely, 
forgetting to be guarded, forgetting all in her 
desire to know just what that statement meant. 

“ I mean Dick Haveiiy,” said Grace, slowly 
and impressively. “Oh, it’s earnest; he and 
Blanche flirted until Nellie and Mr. Julian were 
furious over it. So Nellie took Blanche away 
from Ocean Grove until they heard Dick had 
gone, and then Howard said they were going 
back.” 

“Rather risky authority, let us hope,” re- 
marked Mrs. Holmes. “From what 1 saw of 
little Howard he would not be a fair judge where 
Miss Athol was concerned, as they were always at 
swords’ points.” 

“Yes, and I rather think Miss Athol has just 


276 


IN love’s domains. 


eaongli perversity to tease her sister by a flirta- 
tion, even if it was not a particularly interesting- 
one in other respects,” said Mrs. Winans. 

“Not a comfortable trait in a man’s wife,” 
added the major. “She is a dashy, sharp little 
thing, and I suppose Alison knows what he wants, 
but his friends had better say prayers for the rest 
of his soul on his wedding day.” 

And thus she had to hear him discussed day 
after day, and give no sign of the pain that 
choked her sometimes, of the longing that drew 
all her thoughts back to the old town on the bay, 
where they had walked together over the same 
pebbly shores, where every nook in the bends 
of the harbor was recorded, not by shape or 
shadow, but by some little word that was sug- 
gestive, by a quick glance of sympathy, or the 
eager reaching of a hand to help her. Ah, the 
sweetness and the misery of it all! 

She did not hear from him. Each knew at the 
last — when it came to their parting — that it must 
be absolute, that there could never again be any 
pretense of platonic friendship between them. 
The struggle it had been to separate at all told 
them that. 

With the conflicting emotions of woman, she 
honored him for his truth — though so late — to his 
engagement and that girl. At the same time 
all her heart was filled with hot, rebellious 
blood at the thought that he had, no doubt, 
gone with her back into the whirl of summer 
pleasures. 


GALEED. 


277 


She tortured herself with a wonder as to what 
liis thoughts were of this wife of another man — 
the wife who had given her kisses to him and 
who had helped him to be faithless. Could he 
see more clearly the vileness in her now that she 
could not act to him sweet lies? Did he turn 
gratefully to the frank creature who was to be his 
wife, and in the companionship that was right 
did he try to forget a mad dream that had led them 
to the feet of guilt? 

She could close her eyes and seem to hear the 
tensity in his tones as he said, ‘‘Darling!” to 
feel the loving tenderness with which he drew his 
wife close and kissed her fondly — kisses tender 
and sweet, no doubt, and unmoved by that half 
blindness of passion that had tinged his kisses to 
herself. Yes, she could see it all, and the sight 
sickened her. 

What need to imagine a Heaven or Hell when 
God gave to humanity — Love? It has in it the 
heights and the depths of each. 


CHAPTER XY. 

Ask me no more; thy fate and mine are sealed, 

I strove against the stream, and all in vain, 

Let the great river take me to the main. 

Tennyson. 

The evening mail was just in, and Grace, who 
had got ahead of the major, carried to the cottage, 
down by the shore road, the budget of letters and 
papers. And impulsive as her manner usually 


278 


IN love’s domains. 


was, they were yet unprepared for her entrance 
that Avarm summer evening. 

‘‘Dear me, G-race,” called Mrs. Winans, before 
the girl got to the gate, “don’t run like that this 
Avarm evening. It is really exhausting to watch 
you.” 

“Guess what’s happened!” she panted, drop- 
ping’ into a chair and holding an open letter in 
her hand. “ Don’t ever say I am not a prophet, 
guess — guess!” 

“Stop it!” grumbled the major. “ Gh^e me 
my papers, and then prophesy to your heart’s 
content.” 

“There they are — you newspaper gormand,” 
she said, throwing him the packages, “but I’ll 
wager none of you read much when I tell you the 
news.” 

“Well, Avell, tell it and ease your mind!” 
advised the old lady, smilingly. What great 
event has happened? Have you a step-mamma? 
or is Tom married?” 

“No, but some one else is, just as I said they 
would be — Blanche Athol. ’ ’ 

“Blanche Athol!” echoed Mrs. Winans, and 
the major really did drop his paper at the news 
with an emphatic “By George.” But the other 
Avoman standing in the doorway only leaned 
heavily on the oars she held, and shut her eyes 
with a bitter little smile at the thought of his 
haste. Could he not have Aval ted, at least until 
she had time to get away from the people who 
kneAv them both? 


GALEED. 


279 


‘‘No wonder you ran,” she said, trying to speak 
carelessly, “a wedding is always a thing of 
interest, especially to one’s friends; send to them 
for your piece of wedding-cake, my dear. I am 
going for a little exercise — good-bye.” 

And settling the oars on her shoulder, she 
walked down the steps and into the little boat 
awaiting her at the landing, at the edge of the 
garden. 

“ Did you ever see anyone quite like Judith?” 
said Grace, complainingly. “I wonder what 
news one could ever bring her that would interest 
her? Why, she don’t seem to care at all, and 
such good friends as she and Fra Lippo were! 
Well, I’d think she would care a little on his 
account.” 

“Did she write you? How did you hear?” 

“No, indeed, the letter is from Tom, just a 
few lines. But it all turned out just as I 
expected,” she reiterated, triumphantly. 

‘ ‘ Y ery lik ely, ’ ’ rem arked Mrs . W inans . “But, 
so far, you have not given us a particle of infor- 
mation, except one bare statement; now what were 
your expectations? or what news does Tom send? 
Since you have begun, please tell us all about it.” 

And Grace, plunging into her discourse, forgot 
the exit of Mrs. Holmes, and chatting on until 
after sundown they scarcely noticed that she was 
staying out a good while. It was nothing unusual 
for her, however, to stay out on the water, until 
after dark, if she felt like it. They were used to 
missing her in the evenings. 


280 


IN love’s domains. 


But the three on the porch, chatting in the 
gloaming, stopped suddenly as a form coming up 
the village street neared their gate. 

‘ ‘ It is — surely, it is Fra Lippo, ” said Grace, in 
a half whisper. 

“That’s who it is,” said the major, rising and 
laying down his paper. 

“Don’t let us say anything about Tom’s letter 
unless he speaks,” suggested Grace, and Mrs. 
Winans nodded assent 

The next instant the major was shaking hands 
with Alison, and Mrs. Winans and Grace were 
bidding him welcome. 

“Why did you not write us you were coming?” 
asked Grace; “we would have met you at the 
depot.” 

“I drove across the country from Bay Shore,” 
he answered, “ and did not know I was coming in 
time to write you. I am staying at the hotel here, 
but go on to New York in the morning.” 

No one mentioned the marriage to him, and 
Grace, in her romantic fashion, wondered how he 
could possibly be so cool and collected, and talk 
of everything except the one subject that must be 
uppermost in his mind. 

After a little, he asked for Mrs. Holmes. Was 
she still with them? Was her ankle quite recov- 
ered? He wanted to see her before starting for 
New York, as he was to interview a publisher in 
regard to illustrations she was to make. He was 
to leave early in the morning and wanted to see 
her to-night. 


GALEED. 


281 


“ Then I guess you will have to take a boat and 
go after her,” said the major. Little captain is 
such a water-rat that she’ll stay out for hours, if 
she feels in the humor.” 

‘‘ Which direction did she go?” he asked, ris- 
ing to his feet. ‘‘It is still light enough to see 
quite a distance on water, I may find her.” 

“She went down that way, out toward the 
Sound,” said Grace; “for if she had gone up I 
should have seen her from the porch. Come, I’U 
go to the boat-house with you.” 

A boat was soon secured. Grace looked at him, 
intending, in thoughtless fashion, to go with him 
to look for Judith, but something strange in his 
face made her step back. 

“Heally, he didn’t seem to know I was 
there,” she thought, in amazement, for he had 
always been so kind, so considerate of her. But 
she gave him a smiling good-bye and walked 
slowly up the steps to the house, wondering if, 
after all. Fra Lippo was not troubled more than 
she had thought at first. 

A weird, steely light lay over the water, and 
the bits of coast in the gloaming were merely 
clear-cut, black outlines that looked like an 
exquisite etching, with, across the still water, just 
one pale path of rose, thrown as a last tribute 
from the vanished sun. The air was warm and 
still, not a movement to break the sweet peace of 
the evening, and away down around the bend of 
the shore, where the cliff rises up, could be seen 
one boat drifting idly out from shore. 


282 


IN love’s domains. 


Once in a while the occupant would give the 
oar a few dips and right the little craft, sending 
it in toward the beach. It did not matter much 
wdiere she drifted, she thought, in a numb sort of 
way. A something heavy and dead seemed set- 
tling over her life, just as the gray cloak of night 
was blotting all the sweetness and warm colors of 
the day. 

She had known it would come, of course, this 
news Grace had brought, and which she could 
not stay to hear discussed. But that it should be 
so soon had not occurred to her. 

‘ ‘ Could he not wait until the echo of his whis- 
pers to me were dead^’ she asked herself , bitterly, 
and then, with a burst of shivering, sobbing 
misery: “But they never will be! never! all the 
days! all the nights! oh God!” 

An oar slipi^ed out of i3lace and drifted away 
slowly. The boat, unguarded, moved further and 
further from the beach. And huddled down there 
in a heap, with her head resting on the seat, lay 
the little ca^Dtain — blind, deaf to all but those 
echoes of the iDast, that were struggling, lighting 
for possession of her heart. 

A very weak heart, the “uncoguid” may think. 
A wicked heart to cling so to memories that were 
guilty. Yes, it was all that. It was very human. 

That other boat, moving closer over the still 
waters, gave no warning to her ears, and Alison, 
seeing the drifting boat and the huddled form, 
thought she had fallen asleep there in the warmth 
and rest of the falling night. 


GALEED. 


283 


Silently, silently, lie moved toward her that she 
might not waken; so close now that he could see 
the curved, white neck on which the hair rested; 
one more silent, sure dip of the oar and the boats 
almost touch. That movement of the waters 
aroused her, she supposed she had drifted into 
some of the set nets of the fishermen, and raising 
her eyes in a questioning way, met those of Ali- 
son’s, shining with a great gladness. 

“Judith!” and he reached out his hand, and 
even in that gesture showing his want of her. 

But she only stared at him— scarcely a light of 
recognition in her eyes — they had been so dim 
with tears, now they were dazed as if by a doubt 
of his actuality. Everything on the stretch of 
water had a weird, steely glint over the grayness. 
In the dusk only his eyes looked warm and alive. 
Was he only a creation of a longing imagination? 

“Judith!” 

Ah, how could she mistake that tenderness for 
anything but his own voice? It was he. Yes, 
but — 

“You should not have come,” she said, in 
a deprecating way, trying to force back her 
own thankfulness. “ You must not come again, 
ever. ’ ’ 

“ Must I not?” and she felt herself jarred on by 
that lightness of voice, that utter joyousness of 
manner. Where was the realization of this sick- 
ening change that had parted them? Could this 
be the man whose delicacy of feeling had first 
touched her through his work? And he could 


284 


IN love’s domains. 


come from tlie kisses of his bride to her! and 
come like that! She closed her eyes with a great 
wave of shame flushing her cheeks, though she 
could not have told whether it was for him or for 
herself. 

He looked at her, smiling at her still, with that 
manner she could not understand. He could see 
the traces of tears in the eyes that had grown 
hollow and tired-looking in the three weeks since 
he had seen her. 

“My friend,” and he clasped her hand tenderly, 
“these days have not been bright ones to you 
either, have they^’ 

She shook her head. It did not seem easy to 
speak, she was too much afraid she would cry 
again, and the sobs were still trembling in her 
throat, making her voice uncertain. 

“ I know it,” he said, dropping his face against 
her hand. ‘ ‘ Do you imagine there was an hour 
that I did not think of your loneliness, your good- 
ness in helping me to do what we thought was 
right? And I am glad of it now, dear — so glad; 
because now you will not torture yourself with 
regrets on my account, as I know you would have 
done.” 

Then, for the first time, she shook off the silence 
which his strange manner had given her. 

“Have you no soul that tells you what you are 
doing when you come to me and speak to me like 
this — now?” she asked, as steadily as she could. 

He looked at her in a puzzled way. 

“Why not now, if ever?” he returned, doubt- 


GALEED. 


285 


fully, ‘ ‘ unless — unless it is because of your own 
bonds. I will do nothing, say nothing to influ- 
ence you against them at any time, if you care to 
regard them. Only, after what has been, how 
could I help coming first to you? And I thought 
—she — my dear, I felt so sure you would be 
glad.” 

She laughed in a shivering way at that. 

“Yes,” she said, ironically, “I wonder that 
you did not bring your wife out here to share 
your gladness. Did you leave her with Grace 
and Mrs. Winans? If so, we — we had better go 
back.” 

In a moment he had drawn her close in his arms 
with a happy laugh. 

“Ah! Judith, Judith!” he cried, joyously. 

‘ ‘ What is it you have been thinking of? My 
wife! she is in my arms. Can you not understand 
that? Yes, even though you send me away; even if 
I never see you again, you are my wife, the only 
one I shall ever have; dear, don’t you know? 
don’t you know?” 

She threw back her head out of the reach of his 
lips. 

“But, Miss Athol; they said — ” 

“Miss Athol is Miss Athol no more,” he smiled; 
“she has been for forty-eight hours Mrs. Haverly. 
Now Judith, you rebel, where are your congratu- 
lations?’ ’ 

Their unheeded boats were idly drifting side by 
side, linked close by the arms of those two people. 
After that war of protest against him, against her- 


286 


IN love’s domains. 


self, she turned her face downward on his arm 
and lay there passively, as if she had been wait- 
ing for that shelter, that rest. There were no 
words of explanation. What did it matter now 
of that other, or how she had fallen so readily 
into the idea that it was Alison’ s marriage Grace 
spoke oPi That was all of the past, and their 
present had brought them to each other — that was 
enough. 

“ And you really came first to me — for my con- 
gratulations?” she said, with her face still turned 
against his sleeve, and a note of gladness, falter- 
ing through her tones, instead of the sobs. ‘‘You 
really came first to see me?’ ’ 

“ Really, and really,” he smiled, in answer; 
“ and you are glad with me, are you not? I 
heard it last night, but was not certain enough to 
come to you. Put your arm up here — so, while 
I tell you how long the night seemed.” 

“Did you want to come to me — so much?” 
Another weakness of the heart human, to cease its 
beats that it may hear every intonation in the 
voice of love. “ And did the night seem long?” 

“ Did it? I can not find words to tell you of it 
now. I am too content only to be here. But do 
you remember the evening when we lieard the 
first whip-poor-will of the season? That dream 
of a night! and how happy we were in our resolu- 
tions to be earnest, helpful friends; and how 
bright the moon was, and how sweet those roses 
smelt? You were only Psyche to me that night, 
a thing of soul. And in the midst of the sweetest 


GALEED. 


287 


of silences we heard the call of that wood-bird. 
Do you remember?” 

‘ ‘ How could I forget?’ ’ 

'^WelJ, last night, while wakeful, I heard the 
call of the whip-poor-will again, so clearly, so 
closely, it brought back to me that night when 
you were with me. I remembered you told me 
there was some superstition about the bird’ s call, 
though you would not say what it was, and last 
night I lay there wondering about it, fancying it 
must be some lover’ s legend that you feared to tell 
me, lest the subject drift us into channels we had 
agreed to avoid. And so, with vague fancies of 
the night-bird, and sweeter ones of you, I lay 
wakeful, waiting for morning, and hoping I could 
come to you.” 

All barriers of the spirit melted away as she 
heard the familiar voice, bringing back to her 
some of the poems of feeling they had lived 
through. 

She raised her head, looking over his shoulder, 
toward the north, where the last remaining lights 
were centered in bars of bluish steel. The water 
had slowly darkened, and only a few stars shone 
through the warm night. 

“We must go back,” she said. 

“Yes, we must go back;” but their fingers 
closed over each other a little tighter as they 
spoke, and then for the first time she missed the 
oar. 

“ Never mind, I will get you one instead in the 
morning,” he said, peering into the shadows, 


288 


IN love’s domains. 


but not seeing it. ‘‘We can not look for it now, 
we can not afford to lose the time.” And there 
was just light enough left to see the smile and the 
love in each other’s eyes. 

“ Come, get into my boat,” he suggested; “ we 
can tie yours to the stern.” 

But for some perverse whim she refused. 

“No, tie them together at the row-locks, just 
as they are,” she answered, “and then each can 
row his own boat.” 

He protested against such an innovation in 
seamanship, but taking a ribbon from her hair 
she, with his aid, fastened them tightly together. 

“ That is much better,” she said, complacently. 
“Now see how evenly we can pull on with this 
arrangement.” 

“ It is abominable,” he grumbled; “I shall not 
be able to see your face. ” 

“You know I am close beside you, anyway.” 

“Yes, for this one evening.” 

“I am grateful for even that,” she said, softly. 
“I have been torturing myself so with the 
thought of my own faults, and the certainty that 
you would see them so much plainer when we 
were parted. And then, I could fancy you class- 
ing me among women who — ah, my friend, words 
seem weak affairs. But the thought that I am 
wrong, that you so gladly came to me at once — 
well, only a woman who has been what I have been 
can know what content you have brought me.” 

He leaned over, clasping her arm with his dis- 
engaged hand. 


GALEED. 


289 


‘‘ Those doubts of my earnestness must never 
come to you again; they are unjust.” 

“I believe you just now,” she said, honestly; 

but I anrnever sure how long I could continue 
to do so.” 

Their boats, tied so close, moved on over the 
dark waters, propelled by an oar in the hand of 
each. It was slow locomotion, but the night was 
one neither of them was in haste to leave behind. 

‘ ‘ Where does that light in the water come 
from?” she asked, curiously. ‘‘There is none 
left in the sky.” 

Every dip of the oar brought a flash of faint, 
white Are against the blade, and sent little coils 
of light drifting astern. 

“ It is phosphorescent light, ’ ’ he answered. ‘ ‘ It 
is on these stijl, warm nights that it shows bright- 
est. Have you never seen it here?” 

‘ ‘ I have never been along here so late before. 
Ah, look! — there a great ball of fire went past. 
How lovely, and how — how weird it makes all 
this darkness seem.” 

“That fire that passed was a fish,” he said, 
smiling at her enthusiasm, as her oar was for- 
gotten, and her hand thrust down again, and 
again, to see the tiny sparks glimmer back from 
'her fingers. “ In the shadow of that clifi ahead, 
it will show brightly, no doubt. It always does 
in the deepest darkness.” 

“Come, then, let us hurry,” she said, picking 
up the oar eagerly. “Oh, this beautiful night you 
have brought me!” 

19 


290 


IN love’s domains. 


“You have not repaid me well for it then,” he 
answered, quietly, “since you acknowledge how 
little your faith in me is.” 

“Ah, bless you!” she burst out, with just a 
ring of her mother’s race sounding through the 
caress of her tones. “ Don’t think that — it is not 
you — it is myself that am lacking. My doubt as 
to whether a woman like me could keep the 
regard of a man who knew her as you have 
known — ’ ’ 

“ Why will you persist in speaking of yourself 
like that?” he demanded. “Woman like you! One 
would think, the vray you say that, that you were 
the most guilty of women. What crimes have you 
committed?” 

“I should be Judged as guilty, socially,” and 
he could see in the dimness Diat her head bent 
lower; “that is, if the world knew as — as you 
know — ” 

“As I know!” he said, repeating again her 
words. ‘ ‘ I know nothing but that you have been 
very unhappy, and now are very unfortunate in 
caring for a man you can’t trust.” 

The words sounded a little bitter, he felt so. 
Inwardly he was scarcely able to trust himself. 
But just then it seemed a little hard to have some 
one else look over his shoulder into the mirror of 
his conscience. 

“I do not doubt your desire or your intention 
always to think highly of me,” she answered, in 
a debating way. “You will if you can. I believe 
that. But I can not see how you can help chang- 


GALEED. 


291 


ing your thoughts of me from what they used to 
be. I have dreaded that you would, and know 
that if you do, it will be just as it was when we 
cared for each other — it would be because you 
could not help it.” 

‘‘Ah, you woman! you woman!” he breathed, 
half chidingly. ‘ ‘ Why will you torture yourself 
with visionary fancies of what may be, when the 
beauty of what is lies so close fo us'^” 

“ I do not know; perhaps it is simply because 
I am a woman that those fears magnify them- 
selves so, and have been real enough to make me 
heartsick sometimes.” 

“ Because you are sorry?” 

“Oh, I don’t know; how can I define it? To 
say that I am sorry would mean to wish that we 
had never cared for each other — and I — oh, how 
can I ever say that? I never shall, you know I 
never shall!” 

Her hands let the oar go and covered her face 
as if to hide from him, from even the darkness, 
the complexity of emotions that prompted that 
outcry. He reached across her and drew the oar 
into his own boat, sending a shower of silver 
flashing across the night as he did so. They were 
close to the beach in the shadow of the cliff — 
above them, about them, all darkness. Below 
them, millions of sparks floating upward. He 
could see her bent figure and lowered face, 
and a deep, broken breath told him she was 
crying. 

A moment he sat silent, looking at her moodily, 


292 


IN love’s domains. 


and the next instant he had drawn the yielding, 
shivering form into his embrace. 

W as there any word spoken, anything but that 
determined air of possession? Neither heard it 
if there were? Her sobs grew still, silenced by a 
mnte depth of storm beside which her tears were 
as summer showers. 

“And yet you send me from you,” he whis- 
pered, after a silence fraught with more expression 
than any words could convey. “You, knowing- 
all, knowing me, knowing yourself — ah, how can 
you!” • 

She loosened his arms, drawing away from the 
reach of his hands. 

“ It is because I do know you,” she said, hur- 
riedly, passionately; “ and do know myself that 
I know this dream of happiness would prove a 
lie. Ah, I can see! the regret, the shame, and 
perhaps the avoidance of me! That would kill 
me, I think.” 

She was huddled down in the boat much as 
when he had found her and thought her sleeping. 
Her words and the despair in her voice filled him 
with a sweeping desire to give all his life, all his 
devotion to the disproving of that picture. 

“You see,” she w^ent on, brokenly, “I know 
that no matter what evil a man’ s own life may 
have seen and known, I know how high an opinion 
he always has of a woman he thinks good. ” 

“ And that is why I shall always have so high 
an opinion of you,” he answered, earnestly. 
“Because I know you — know you so well.” 


GALEED. 


293 


His hand that was resting on her shoulder 
slipped about the woman’s throat, thrilling with 
that magnetism of touch, and drawing her face 
toward him. 

“Dear,” he whispered, “why are you so true 
to everything but yourself and me?” 


CHAPTER XYL 

“ Mail for Judith?” asked Mrs. Winans; “ well, 
do it up in a parcel. She said we were to forward 
it all together to that publishing place in Hew 
York. Can j’ou remember the address, major?” 

“ Yes; got it here in a note-book.” 

“It does seem such a contradiction of one’s 
ideas of the fitness of things,” said his wife, com- 
plainingly, evidently carrying out aloud some 
unexpressed thoughts— a habit about which Grace 
and the major teased her often. And now he 
looked at her quizzically over his glasses. 

“As your statement stands, it does not carry 
much idea of your subject to your audience,” 
he remarked, dryly. ‘’What are you talking 
about?” 

“ Why — I told you — of Judith,” said his wife, 
a little impatient at his density. “It does seem 
too bad that a woman of her tastes and her 
charming character- a woman who would grace a 
domestic home life — should live as she does the 


294 


IN love’s domains. 


greater part of the year, her nearest thing to a 
permanent address being a business firm.” 

‘‘It is time she wrote us,” said Grace, looking 
up from the little package of letters and papers. 
“ It is three weeks since she left, and only one lit- 
tle note to say she was to leave New York and go 
South to do sketches and write up some special 
localities this coming winter. The South — that’ s 
definite!” 

“ Oh don t growl already,” advised the major; 
“ Judith has little time for gossipy letters such as 
most women expect. Last winter we heard from 
her very seldom; but she generally makes it up 
by spending a little of the summer where we are.” 

“Yes, and what a lovely time we had — Fra 
Lippo, and Judith, and all of us! Oh, dear, how 
I have missed him.” 

“He’s much more a will-o’-the-wisp than 
Judith,” said Mrs. Winans; “ that is, I suppose 
so from Miss Athol's statement.” 

‘ ‘ I don’ t wonder he was where she was con- 
cerned,” said Grace, spitefully; “I never will 
forgive her for acting so shabbily to him — never!” 

“Don’t distress yourself on his account,” 
advised the major; “I don’t think he was very 
hard hit.” 

“Now, don’t be so sure of that,” nodded 
Grace, with an air of x>rof ound knowledge. ' ‘ I 
thought so, too, until that evening when he came 
here. And when I went down for the boat with 
him he looked — well, I just made up my mind he 
was all broke up; and when he bade us good-bye 


GALEED. 


295 


the next morning, and said he didn’t quite know 
whether he would put in the fall at the poles or in 
the tropics, well, I was sure of it then.” 

“Of course you were, you young romancer,” 
laughed Mrs. Winans; “ you will insist that your 
Fra Lippo is a victim of misplaced affection, just 
to keep him from being prosaic and common- 
place.” 

“ He never could be said Grace, loyal to 

her original impressions. “ If he had been com- 
monplace he never vrould have been Fra LipiDo.” 

And the decision of her ideas w'ere emphasized 
by the vim with which she slapped j)aper-covered 
novels into the box she was packing. 

The season was almost over. A little later and 
the last stray from the cobble-stones would have 
drifted uway from the green things of the woods, 
and the whisper of the creeping waters. The 
pink shells again murmur to each other their own 
tale of the ocean depths, and do not have their 
voices drowned by the harsh, hollow laughter of 
those ruthless giants of the summer months. 

And when the day’s light fades, and the sea- 
stars sparkle up from the shadows, only the alder 
and the sweet bay bend to watch them, and the 
flash of white fire lights no longer tragedies of 
soul. 


296 


IN love’s domains. 


CHAPTER XYII. 

What I do 

And what I dream, include thee, as the wine 
Must taste of its own grapes. 

Browning. 

Ever drifting, drifting, drifting. 

On the shifting 
Currents of the restless heart. 

Longfellow. 

Do you know a lovely old town of South Caro- 
lina that lies near to the piney woods of the Pee- 
dee? A quaint, quiet place, that lived its life 
before the innovation of railroads, and that echoes 
now through shady avenues its memories of Corn- 
wallis and the Revolution; where the tiny ferns 
grow thick over the graves of the English dead, 
and the wide streets in their sheet of white sand 
give you glimpses as of new fallen snow. A 
place to rest; a place that the world goes by, not 
knowing. And in its repose began the new life of 
those two who had turned away from the world 
and its opinion — ignoring its social laws — recog- 
nizing only their duty to each other, and not 
fearing the judgment of God on their lives. Why 
should they? Did He not know? So they thought, 
thus they told each other through the happy days 
of the late autumn, an autumn that lasts there 
until the violets come. And so between the sea- 


GALEED. 


297 


sons they crowd winter, with his snow wreaths, 
back into the N orth. ’ 

Ah! the work that was done through those 
helpful days! all the ambitions that had drifted 
in the minds of each for so long, were now made 
tangible, and possible, through their completed 
lives. 

“ God is good that he sends thoughts and work 
that helps people to be philosophical,” she said to 
him, one day, after watching him as he wrote in 
their sunny little house close to the piney woods. 

He looked up from the scribbled page, smiling 
across at her. 

‘‘Come here,” he said, a command that was 
quickly obeyed, and, slipping his arm around her 
waist, he drew her down until she sat facing him 
on the arm of his chair. 

“ Now, what is it?’ ’ he asked, curiously. “ What 
has given you a thankfulness for philosophy? Do 
you need it so much? Do you find life such a 
burthen?” 

“You know,” she said, earnestly, and drew 
his head close against her breast. 

“ Don’t do that; I can't see you,” he protested. 

“ You did not use to object,” she said, quietly, 
but with a strange light for one moment in her 
eyes. 

He looked at her, and, taking her hands, placed 
them once more about his throat. 

“You must not think or speak like that, dear,” 
he said, gently; “ it is wrong. Come, tell me what 
pronq^ted that speech of philosophy.” 


298 


IN love’s domains. 


“ I was thinking of you,” she answered, look- 
ing past him at the yellow shimmer of November 
leaves seen through the window. 

“Well?” 

“ Of how hard this isolation would be for you if 
you had not work that was creative — if you were 
not given the faculty for living in the lives of your 
ideals, and escaping much that would he hard for 
another man.” 

“ You think it isolation?” 

“I? — no, no, not for me,” she said, hurriedly, 
her hands again gaining their caressive tendencies; 
“but for you, who have been used to an active 
life — a life in the world, of the world — very much 
of the world,” she added, with a touch of banter 
in her air. 

“Yes, sadly of the world,” he acknowledged. 
“But you have been teaching me repentance for 
many wild wanderings.” 

“Are you sure you are content?” she asked, 
with a loving woman’ s persistence, the sort of per- 
sistence that is more likely to drift a man out of 
content than into it. If women would but think 
of that! 

“Do I not look it?” and he smiled up at her 
happily. 

“Yes, you do. You always seem so; but ah! 
my dear, I am so afraid — so afraid!” 

It was the one little rift in the lute; would it 
ever still the music to which their lives were 
lived? He wondered that, sometimes, and could 
only hope that those fears would vanish as their 


GALEED. 


299 


future became tlieir past and she learned how 
much she was to his life. 

Words were useless to her. With her woman’s 
love she had no thought of having made any sac- 
rifice in giving up the world’s approval of her 
life; the world’s opinion was as nothing to her 
compared with his. But the thought to be com- 
bated, the thought of dread was— Would the 
time ever come when the world’s infiuence would 
force him to look at her with the world’s 
eyes? 

‘‘ Our lives are our own to spend as we choose,” 
so they had determined, feeling that God, who 
knew, would not judge harshly. They would 
live away from the world and its pettiness of 
opinions. They would live useful, good lives. 
Ah! the dreams of philanthropy they were to put 
into execution when their work made their 
plans j)racticable. So they had thought and 
dreamed, and said over and over: “ If we live true 
to our ideals and each other, how can regret ever 
come?” 

Regret had not. But a super-sensitiveness had 
been given by Fate in exchange for the coin of 
their lives; and sometimes the fancies born of it 
would leave her filled with vague fears, and the 
knowledge that love could bear terrible revelations 
to the soul. 

She was working as closely at her art work as 
he was at his writing in those days. 

“ I believe I will eventually paint,” she said to 
him one day, when a landscape sketch in oil was 


300 


IN love’s domains. 


set up on the high mantel for their criticism, and 
to dry. 

“You do paint, and paint well,” he said, 
decidedly. 

“Oh, I know I do creditable work,” she 
returned; “but I have done little. Black and 
white has contented me until of late; but now 
I think you are making me ambitious in so much. 
I have felt lately my own possibilities for work 
in color as I never did before, only — ” and she 
laughed a little, “ I fear I shall have trouble with 
heads — the heads of men.” 

He looked at her questioningly. 

“Because?” 

‘ ‘ Because they are all sure to look at me with 
your eyes. Yes, they are; I tried to do an ideal 
head yesterday, and against my intentions the 
mouth smiled at me, just as — just as you are 
doing now. 

“Now?” he asked, kissing her. But after a 
little she continued, reflectively: 

‘ ‘ I seem to do no work in which there is not 
something of you, some little bit of your face or 
personality.” And then she looked at him and 
laughed. But there was little sound of merriment 
in it as she said: 

“In the future, when you are a respectable 
member of society, how will you like to be con- 
fronted by vague portraits of yourself gazing at 
you from second-rate canvases?” 

“Hush!” 

“And saying over to you the nonsense we 
talked as they were painted?' ’ 


GALEED. 


301 


‘‘It is not nonsense. In your heart you know 
it is not,” he said, clasping her close and lifting 
her face upward. ‘-How can you hurt yourself 
and me by speaking so? My own— 

“ How long would you care to claim me?” 

‘ ‘ W ell — ^about fifty years. ’ ’ 

“ You think that?” 

“I think that I think it,” he said, teasingly, 
unwilling to encourage her in those touches of 
morbidness he had helped her to. But she gave 
him no smile in answer, only drew back from him 
a little. 

“That sounds like— ‘I believe— help thou my 
unbelief,’ ” she said, and drojDped down hopelessly 
on a chair beside him. 

He leaned over her, and with all loving words 
and an aching heart tried to find words that would 
give her assurance of her sad injustice. 

Thus so often a word carelessly spoken would 
evolve fancies and fears that all earnestness of 
devotion could not quite quell in her mind. 

It was not regret — no, only retribution from the 
thing that they had ignored — the world. 

The infiuence of its millions of souls can not 
be set aside by the atoms; subtly, unconsciously, 
they will be permeated by the sunshine, or set 
aside in the gloom by its silent force. 


302 


IN love’s domains. 


CHAPTER XVIIL 

“ Whence earnest thou?"' 

“ From the nether hell ” 

‘ ‘ What is thy name?” 

“Despair.” 

She grew little by little to be imbued with the 
idea that he was so much more necessary to her 
than she was to him — perhaps because she had 
heard so much of those past days he had lived 
before he knew her. Once or twice she found 
herself watching him curiously, and wondering if 
the time would ever come when she would be 
counted but as one of the beads in his rosary of 
loves. 

She would be ashamed of such thoughts, and 
repentingly promised herself never to harbor them 
in her heart again. But her own humility of soul 
made her see that now she would be deemed 
unworthy by all but him, and perhax^s — 

And so the winter crept on, and brought with it 
a new fear — one over wliich she wept in a misery 
of anguish and despair through many a night — 
one neither of them could ignore. In their love 
they had thought only of each other. What did 
it matter that there could be no marriage ceremony 
when each felt the force of their mutual trutli? 
That had been the one, the only idea of consider- 
ation. 


GALEED. 


803 


Lately she had feared he might some day look 
on her with the cleared vision of the world in his 
eyes. But now there had come to her something 
so much more terrible. The madness of prophecy 
that whispered of how their children would look 
on her in the days to come. 

‘‘Ah! God! if it were only right!” he breathed, 
clasping her hidden face close to him, and feeling 
her hot tears on his hand. 

It was the first acknowledgment he had ever 
made of any evil in their lives together. 

“I think I have lost all power of judging 
between right and wrong,” she whispered. “I 
know now what it is to be a wicked, wicked 
woman, and it is terrible.” 

He got up, walking to and fro in the little 
room where they had been so happy for so many 
weeks; where all their happiness stolen from the 
world had been knit by fate into lashes of remorse. 

“I feel that I want to lie down at your feet 
to night, and die there,” he said, slowly, his eyes 
full of misery at the sight of her despair. 

“ Through regret?” she asked, raising her head. 

He nodded, but did not speak. All the loves 
of the past with their hushes of earth seemed 
coarse to him as he looked at her so helpless— so 
connected in his mind with an inborn sense of 
purity, that despite her life had seemed untainted. 
To him, she was his wife, though he knew that in 
the eyes of the world she would never again be 
placed on a level with honest mothers, or innocent 
daughters. 


304 


IN love’s domains. 


For them the greatest blessing God grants to 
earthly love was turned into a curse, that would 
not even die with their deaths. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

Drink not together from the same cup until the last drop. 
For after such intoxicating draughts, the last drop is a tear of 
blood. Spanish Proverb. 

What is there that could be written of that 
spring-time that could convey any idea of what 
those lives lived through between their love and 
their remorsel Each day binding their hearts 
closer, yet each day bringing clearer to them the 
knowledge that their future must be apart. 

Across that space they moved as those lovers 
of Dante moved across that gray gloom of hell, 
hand-in-hand, an added misery evolved from the 
love in each other’s eyes. 

In May her child was born, a little soft-skinned 
mite, that looked at her drowsily with its father’s 
eyes. But back of the lazy baby stare she could 
see what no other could— a sickening loathing, 
a mute reproach for the years to come. 

can not stand it!” she moaned, piteously, 
even while all the mother’s awakened nature 
longed for the baby lips, and baby tingers. ‘‘I 
can not — take it away.” 

Yet it was the gift of the God whose judgment 
they had not feared. 


GALEED. 


305 


And he, its father, loving her, willing to give 
his life to her content, could only hear those cries 
of late conscience in silence— a silence that left 
grim lines of repression about his mouth, and the 
strained look of a speechless misery in his eyes. 

‘ ‘ I wish, ’ ’ she said, looking up at him from a 
tear Vet pillow, “I wish I had been either good 
enough to have kept above the cause of all this 
that has come to us, or else that I was so bad 
that I should not care. If I could only be alto- 
gether bad, I should be so much happier now.” 

It was an echo of so much that had been in his 
own thoughts, an echo that sounds through all 
remorse for sins of commission. 

“Dear,” he said, gently, “you could never be 
wholly bad; there are four of us, you and I, the 
good and the bad in each, like two distinct 
natures.” 

“ But over which have I had most influence?” 
she asked, wistfully. 

“Over which?” and he dropped on his knees 
close to her couch. “ There has been given me a 
clearer vision of good and evil; there are better 
things in my heart, in my thoughts now, than 
there have ever been.” 

“ Through this lesson that has brought misery, 
or—” 

“ How slow you are to believe in yourself,” he 
smiled, sadly, “through you, you, you.” 

Ah! those days of spring-time, when their long- 
ing hands lingered so at every touch, each feeling 
the time growing closer when their lives together 
20 


306 


IN love’s domains. 


must end, a phantom in their hearts that never 
vanished, but of which they avoided speech. 

He had talked to her of marriage, of a time in 
the future when it might be possible — through 
divorce. But to all that she had only repeated, 
“ It is too late.” 

And neither her own love nor his could change 
that decision. 

‘Htis too late for the child’s sake,” she had 
said, in answer to his wishes; “and for myself. 
Do not be vexed with me, I have grown over-sen- 
sitive and morbid, perhaps, but I know that the 
thought would be with me always, that you mar- 
ried me through pity; it would be a skeleton in 
our lives that would kill all content. I know it, 
not through you, dear, never by fault of yours, 
but through myself, my own love that has grown 
jealous of every glance from your eyes; my own 
sensitiveness that would make your life one of 
dread, and mine one of morbid imaginings. Ah, 
I have thought out all the truth as I lay here — I 
see — I know.” 

No plans had yet been matured for their future, 
or that of the child, only she was to live alone, 
and in some way try to live that blame would not, 
in time, come to the murmuring little mite, whose 
hands he kissed so often, and so tenderly, with 
sometimes a half-mad determination to keep 
them both always with him, despite remorse, 
despite fate, despite all laws. 

Did the angels who guard human lives think 
those two souls had suffered enough? Was that 


GALEED. 


307 


the reason that God’s kiss closed the baby eyes 
one May morning just as the sun’s rays brought 
in a new day? And those two, watching together 
its last struggle for breath, knew that its sleep 
was forever, its gaze would never again bring them 
reproach. 

Only the memories — ah, the memories! 

‘‘It is over,” she said, in a dull way, when 
they had walked in the dusk of the night back 
from the little mound in the burial-ground — the 
mound that held a buried past. “You must go 
back, live in the world again. This has been a 
season in dreamland— dreams beautiful, dreams 
horrible — but it must cease.” 

“And you? — oh, my dear, my dear!” 

“Don’t,” she whispered, “it is late for me to 
speak so, I suppose, but it is right.” 

“ I know,” he answered, “ it is right, and it is 
wrong; but to remember what is right I need 
you — your help always.” 

“You will always have it,” she said, smiling 
wanly, “you must try to unlearn a philosophy of 
nature we drifted into adopting, and learn instead 
the philosophy of the world that tells us, while of 
the earth, souls must conform to its moral laws.” 

“I do not know — I can not think,” he said, 
brokenly. Her hands were trembling in his clasp 
and he could feel that the steadiness of her voice, 
the determination to reason thus calmly, was cost- 
ing her all the strength she had to give. That piti- 
ful struggle touched him as no expressed emotion 
could have done, and with a great sob he drew 


808 


IN love’s domains. 


her close, and she felt hot tears following the 
kisses that were pressed on her face, her eyes, her 
month! Who dreams that the greatest width of 
loss is borne to humanity across graves in the 
earth? What of that coffin in which the dead 
stir at every pnlse of the blood?— the dead whose 
voice will not be silenced, and whose moans 
drive people • mad sometimes — the dead who lie 
in the heart? 

“Ah, you are cruel,” she breathed, trem- 
blingly, drawing his head down on her shoulder 
with the caressing mother-touch innate in some 
women. “ I am trying to reason clearly — at last; 
for I see clearly now, as I know yon do, only you 
could not say it to me, I know; but the thought of 
losing you so is easier than some of the fancies 
that remorse brought — the thought of the time 
when you would grow ashamed of me, perhaps.” 

“ And you know my love as little as that?” 

“Don’t speak in reproach, now,” she said, half 
pleadingly; “I could not help my fears for the 
future; I can see their causes so clearly of late. 
They were a natural consequence of our life. 
No sensitive woman could rise entirely beyond 
them, I think, and I feel that they would have 
killed our happiness in the future. No devotion, 
no earnestness of love could ever still altogether 
that feeling.” 

“You can reason, I can not yet,” he answered, 
in a tired way. “ I can only ache — ache with the 
thought of what our loss of each other will mean 
— oh, God!^ — the days and the nights!” 


GALEED. 


309 


‘‘Hush!” she said, closing his lips with her own. 
“Do you think / do not remember? Something 
in this suffering has brought me to a realization 
of a higher life for each of us; something of the 
peace on our dead baby’s face has given me 
strength to-day — lifted me out of my own earthi- 
ness.” 

“You are good,” he said, earnestly, looking 
U13 at her; “you have always been good, and you 
are right now. The lack of that moral obligation 
has been the one blot on our lives together. It 
has brought us suffering, and would, I suppose, 
continue to do so, only I am not good like you, 
dear.. I can not but wonder if, after all, the pos- 
session of each other is not worth any suffering 
life might bring.” 

A long time they sat silent after those words of 
his that had encompassed all their senses for so 
long. Oh! the floods of memory surging through 
each mind that made them clasp closer their 
hands in the dark of the room, where only the 
moon shone. Looking into his eyes as he knelt 
beside her, his arms about her waist, something 
in his face brought, as in a vision, the face of his 
child there instead, and something like a touch of 
the dead child’s spirit strengthened her when she 
spoke. 

“ We have thought that so long, dear, and it 
seemed right for awhile; but it has all been 
changed by our babe’ s little life. All seems 
changed but the knowledge that we have lives 
left us through which we may atone. Strange 


310 


IN love’s domains. 


how the shuttle of fate has altered life’s colors 
for us! You say my influence has raised your 
thoughts, your work to higher ideals. Dear, so 
dear! I seem to see that this renunciation will 
help to keep them there, while my continued life 
with you now would lower them — drag all our 
thoughts to a level from which we could never 
again look in our child’s eyes in any after-life. 
It has come to me slowly, this understanding, but 
it will never leave me again.” 

Was his own spirit touched by that subtle, 
unseen presence they had brought earthward? 
Something stilled that mad passion of protest, 
as he drew her face to his and kissed the pure, 
sad eyes with a feeling akin to that with which 
he had kissed their child in its cofiin only a few 
hours before. 

‘‘ If I dare pray for anything after my wrongs 
to you,” he said, screening his face with her 
hands, ‘‘it will be that I can live so as to help 
you — in all highest desires — ’ ’ 

The sweetness of ideal hopes that ever rises 
afresh from under the trampling feet of human- 
ity! 

And the clasp of their hands was the silent 
register of that prayer that each felt was a prom- 
ise. What matter though their past had shown 
them what brittle things human intents were? 
This was a new present. After a little, she said, 
reflectively: “ When we are apart, do not think of 
me as wholly despairing. Work brings its own 
blessings, and I have work to do — work of atone- 


GALEED. 


311 


ment. I am not despairing to-night. I am hap- 
pier than I could think possible. That seems 
strange to say, loving you as I do. It is not 
really happiness either — only a sense of peace. 
Do you understand?’ ’ 

‘‘Yes — I know. May it always be with you.” 

To them both it was the first fragrance from the 
fiowers of sacrifice to duty — the fruit of which is 
garnered for humanity on the other side of 
death. 

“Of the divinity of that book called Holy,” 
she said, after a little while, in a refiective way, 
“ I used to doubt. I never was quite sure. But 
I do know that the violation of those command- 
ments to humanity bring with them their own 
punishment. Life has i^roved for us that the 
foundation for work that will honor G-od and 
each other can only be reached through this 
atonement.” 

After a moment of silence, she added: “Dear, 
it is not to your heart I speak now.” 

“I know,’' he said, sadly, earnestly. “It is 
the soul to the soul drawn close to your own and 
our child’s, until I see as you see,Cand know for 
a truth that no love of ea^, no singleness of 
heart, or i)urity of intent can make amends for 
the breakin^of God’ s"^ laws. J Th^e who dream 
of it will awaken to the sameJvno\v^ledge."^’ 

Thus two s'duls parted there in that old town 
of the South— two souls that had helped each 
other to all joy, to all pain, to all high resolves, 
during one sweet, short year of life. 


312 


IN LOVE'S DOMAINS. 


And as a monument to their past, a little mound 
is nestled among the fragrance of the pine-needles, 
and above it a tiny tablet bearing no name, only 
the one word — “Graleed.” 


EPILOGUE. 


“Well?” said the writer of “Galeed,” turning 
to Harvey, as the Poet, reading the story to them, 
ceased at the shadowy scene of the parting — 
“ Well?” 

“Good,” answered the publisher, decidedly. 
“It is peculiar enough to find many enemies, 
and you are about the last man I should have 
expected that sort' of a story from, but I want 
it.” 

“I do not think I shall care so much for the 
enemies it meets,” said the writer, thoughtfully, 
“ if only now and then it may fall into the hands 
of some woman and take with it a lesson. ’ ’ 

“ To women alone?” asked the Poet. 

“ No, not to women alone. But— women suffer 
most. ” 

- And with that final remark on “Galeed,” he 
picked up the craniological romance as if to drop 
the subject of his own. 

“ Pretty little thing,” was the Professor’s crit- 
icism on “The Lady of the Garden,” as he looked 
over his spectacles at the most youthful of the 
trio; “pretty; but your old woman has too much 

( 313 ) 


314 


IN love’s domains. 


poetry in her for an herb-gatherer— not natural, 
at all.” 

‘ ‘ Hunt up some other point for criticism, can’ t 
you, ” remarked the Bohemian, ‘‘especially after 
the poetical soul you have managed to fasten to 
those pages. And then, who can say what is, or is 
not a natural character, since people so constantly 
meet with surprises in themselves, under different 
influences. We never quite know our own nature 
until someone else helps us understand it. So 
many things that may be true of us are yet not nat- 
ural to us, so who can draw the line? To you, who 
are practically doubtful of most things, that old 
woman may have shown but the commonplace 
side of her nature, while this other fellow, Aber- 
deen, may have, by the force of his own sympathy 
or personality, made possible the telling of her 
story in a manner unusual.” 

“No argument in it, either,” continued the Pro- 
fessor. “ It is easier to idealize a man after he has 
been buried a few years than it would be to live 
with him during that time. Perhaps the flowers 
were a iDeace-offering for the curtain lectures she 
had given him while living. ” 

“Just be a little lenient to my first attempt,” 
suggested the young author, “Here’s Mr. Allan; 
he will not be so sensitive; pick him to pieces.” 

“No. r 11 leave that for the professional critics, 
it’s too ultra-emotional for me to puzzle my brain 
over; the man in it has so many fine theories on 
the sublimity and beauty in friendship, at the 
same time that he is sweeping it out of existence. 


EPILOGUE. 


315 


He is always thinking and talking of high ideals 
of life and use, but in every attempt to reach them 
he stumbles back to the foot of the figurative 
ladder.” 

‘•I fear many of us stumble in the same 
attempt,” was the comment of the Poet. 

‘‘And as for the woman, she strikes me as 
being one of those people who are never happy 
unless they are miserable, made up of spasmodi- 
cal fits of rapture and agony, and preferring it to 
commonplace, uneventful content. Pve no doubt 
if her husband had been introduced, he would 
have proved a good sort of a fellow, with his 
nervous system a wreck. But those two charac- 
ters blindfold each other, morally, all through the 
story, and then wonder that they can’t see. They 
make a plaything of fire, and let their chronicler 
moralize over their burns. It is not an unusual 
story.” 

“ But unusual to be told,” interrupted the Poet, 
turning champion for the Bohemian, who listened 
in silence to the comments. 

“And it has no plot — ” 

“Neither have lives, only plans; but the plans 
are written of God, so one has a precedent for 
plotless stories. But what of your own. Pro- 
fessor?” 

‘ ‘ Oil, well, mine does not pretend to be literary; 
but there’s an argument in it, anyway.” 

“And a lesson in ‘ Galeed’ — imagine the per- 
fection of their lives if their bond had not been 
what we call sin.” 


316 


IN love’s domains. 


“ Humpli! the chances are that they would not 
have been nearly so attractive to each other. The 
barriers raised enhanced the value of the thing 
sulfered for. The same rule holds good in relig- 
ious fanatics — give a tinge of opiiression to their 
sect and straightway they will march to martyr- 
dom for it. ” 

“Ah! then you really class love as a religion?” 

“No — not at all — merely a figure of speech.” 

“Don’t you think, for a man who agreed to 
leave criticism to the critics, you are raising a 
good many objections?” remarked Harvey, turn- 
ing from the manuscript of “ Galeed.” “Not to 
the style or calibre of work, but simply with the 
people, because you do not happen to know them. 
Though they may not be your sort, they will serve 
as a foil to your ‘ Romaunt,’ so don’ t quarrel with 
them.” 

“ Then you really think well enough of them to 
publish them together?” asked the Poet; “mine, 
too?” 

“Yours, too, my modest friend,” said Harvey, 
showing in his voice the liking he had formed for 
the young fellow. “And another one from you 
when you can do it — something less pastoral 
next time. You and Allan might form a literary 
partnership; how is that for a scheme? 1 will be 
your publisher.” 

“We must have Professor, also,” said the 
Bohemian. 

“No, you will not have Professor, either,” said . 
that individual; “ Pve told my last love story.” 


EPILOGUE. 


317 


“Tell some other sort of a story, ttien,'’ sug- 
gested tlie Poet. 

“ I think not. In all the jabber over the three 
of these, I have not yet heard a word as to the 
theories we started to prove.” 

“Never mind,” grinned Harvey; “you’ve 
pulled each other to pieces enough without start- 
ing on that tack. Leave that for the public.” 

“ Harvey,” said the author of “ Galeed,” with a 
sudden flash of memory, “ wdiat about that 
incomparable specimen of womanhood to whom 
you were so devoted when we began these stories? 
Has the attachment that existed tlien been 
declared unending by this time?’ ’ 

“Oh, yes,” he said, briskly, raking around on 
his desk until he found tw^o cards fastened with 
white satin, which he dangled aloft on a cigar- 
holder; '‘‘hers has, two weeks ago — to another 
fellow! Oh, I see you chuckling. Professor; but 
that was not a love story, only an episode. By 
the way,” he added, shoving the manuscripts into 
a drawer, “in going over these stories — colored 
as they are with the personalities of all three of 
you as I know you — I have been asking myself 
a question that is not likely to occur to your 
other readers: In these wanderings ‘In Love’s 
Domains ’ how much of these chronicles is imag- 
inary and how much is history?” 

Do you think he was told? 


[THE END.] 





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I 



THE TALE OF A CENTURA 


suMiwiniiig rriure inj 
jars’ Soap. It is, a 
In tho United Stall 


J lfST a hundred years ago Pears’ Soap began in Lond 
its mission of cleanliness. To-day its use is univers 
and more people than ever before acknowledge 
superiority— a sure e’ ’dence that Its mission has been si* 
cessful. For one hundred years it has maintained 
supremacy in the face of the whole world’s competitic 
Such a record could not be achieved without can 
Temporary successes are comparatively easy, but for 
article to go on maintaining its popularity through genen 
tion after generation. It must appeal to something more thj 
passing fancy. This Is the case with Pears 
always has been, an honest product. I 
it has found a place in public favor equal to that so loi! 
held In England. Men and women alike find it good af- 
reliable. The man who has once tried Pears’ Soap In ti 
form of a shaving stick wants no other; he takes it with h^ 
on all his journeys. That woman who travels and falls 
take, as she would her tooth-brush or hair-brush, a suppi 
of Pears’ Soap, must put up with cheap substitutes until h 
burning, smarting skin demands the “matchless for ti, 
complexion.” Even children know the difference. So loi| 
as fair, white hands, a bright, clear complexion, and a sot 
healthful skin continue to add to beauty and attractive nesj 
so long will Pears’ Soap continue to hold its place in tlj 
good opinion of women who want to be beautiful and i 

PEARS’ SOAP tractive. Be sure j 
get the genui 



Fob 

Fair White Hands, 
Bright Clear 

Complexion, 
Soft Healthful Skin, 


“Matchless for the 
Complexion.” 

Adelina Patti. 


BEARS^ SOAP 
there are vile im'' 
tat ions. 


itn 

/j 

im\ 


Me won’t be Happy till he gets it I 




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